


Find the Right Words

by kjack89



Series: Prompt Drabbles [4]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: A little bit of everything in bite-sized packages, Angst, F/M, Ficlets, Fluff, Gen, M/M, See each chapter for more, Snippets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2014-11-29
Packaged: 2017-12-22 17:23:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 61
Words: 27,332
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Unrelated 3 to 5 sentence drabbles as prompted on Tumblr. Mostly Modern AU. Featuring a steady abuse of the rules of English grammar. See chapter notes for other warnings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Éponine/Courfeyrac Picnic

**Author's Note:**

> These started as just a few little prompts on Tumblr, but then as with everything I do, they kind of spiraled out of control. Posting them on here mainly for my own convenience. Fics get longer as time goes on, meaning my associated misuse of English also gets heavier in later chapters.
> 
> Title is from a Jack Kerouac quote (from _The Dharma Bums_ ): "One day I will find the right words, and they will be simple."
> 
> As with the previous drabble prompts, each chapter will be labelled with the ship/prompt for easier perusal. Warnings as necessary will be in the notes at the beginning of each chapter.
> 
> Usual disclaimer: anything you recognize is not mine.

"Gavroche, get your ass back over here!" Éponine shouted, almost a little wearily, as she spread the picnic blanket across the grass.

Courfeyrac grabbed her by the waist and pulled her down on to the picnic blanket with him, kissing her temple and whispering, “He’s fine, Ép, let him be - and maybe try to avoid yelling swear words in a family park?”

She just glared at him, arms crossed in front of her chest as she reminded him, “This was your idea, so you’re responsible for anything that happens here today.”

Laughing, he pulled her closer to him, kissing first her lips and then nibbling down her jaw, which caused her to laugh and then kiss him back, letting him roll mostly on top of her to continue kissing her, only stopping when the sound of someone clearing his throat made them break apart and look up, finding Gavroche staring down at them, arms crossed as he informed them, “You two are gross, and this is a family establishment.”

Courfeyrac and Éponine took one look at each other and burst out laughing as Courfeyrac pulled Gavroche down with them, both peppering kisses to his cheeks as he squealed and yelled, “Gross!”, their laughter carrying across the park.


	2. Enjolas/Grantaire Old Together

Grantaire and Enjolras glared at each other across the table, both seething, until Grantaire sighed loudly and said softly in a creaky sort of voice, “I am getting too damn old to fight with you, Enj.”

Enjolras opened his mouth as if to say something, but thought better of it, something in his creased face softening as he said, voice equally as quiet, though still with traces of the passion he had used to stir the masses until well into his 70s when he had finally had to retire slightly, “You once told me that the day you would stop arguing with me is the day you died.”

"That promise was a lot easier to make when it was our wedding day and I was 29 years old," Grantaire reminded him, "as opposed to 79 and approaching 80; is it too much to ask to want to live my last few years in peace?"

Enjolras shuffled towards him, running a hand through his faded gray curls, stopping when he was right in front of Grantaire, and reaching down to grab Grantaire’s hand, telling him, “Yes, yes it is too much to ask because I need you to argue with me, Grantaire, I always have; you arguing with me is what keeps me grounded, it’s what’s sustained me all these years, and if you were to stop, even after all these years, I…I don’t know what I would do.”

Grantaire sighed, but he was smiling, and he intwined his fingers with Enjolras’s before saying in a low voice, “Well, I suppose I’ll have to permit it”, leaning forward and kissing Enjolras gently, but with as much passion as had filled their marriage for the past fifty years.


	3. E/R - Grantaire has Amnesia

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW for head injury**

When Joly had whispered, low in Enjolras’s ear, that Grantaire had amnesia following a rather sickening fall, Enjolras had not known what to expect, but it certainly had not been this.

This, of course, being the tantrums and the anger and the flat-out frustration of not knowing what had happened in his life for the past several years, not knowing who he was anymore, not knowing - the hardest of all - who Enjolras was and what he meant to Grantaire (and certainly not what Grantaire meant to Enjolras), frustration that was of course understandable, but not easily remedied, since the only remedy in existence was time and re-exposure to old memories.

There were so many memories that Enjolras wanted Grantaire to get back - their first date, their first kiss, every moment they had spent as friends becoming lovers becoming something more, something deeper - but then there were also the memories that he would do anything to shield Grantaire from, memories from before they were together (and after they were together), memories of fights and screaming at each other and words that cut deeper than either man would admit.

The memories did start to filter back in, slowly but steadily, until one day Grantaire stared at Enjolras, something wild and lost in his eyes, and he said, almost shyly, “I remember you telling me that you love me, and I remember not really believing it, but I don’t remember why I didn’t believe it.”

"But you believe it now," said Enjolras, not quite a question, but desperately hoping he would receive validation just the same, which he did, in the form of Grantaire’s hesitant nod, and he pulled Grantaire to him, kissing him lightly on the temple and whispering, "Then that’s all that matters."


	4. Courfeyrac/Jehan - Flower Meanings

Courfeyrac knocked on Jehan’s door, beaming widely because he had  _nailed it_ , damnit - this was sure to show that he had been paying attention all those times in the flower gardens when Jehan explained all the different flower meanings to him, and hadn’t been staring at Jehan (well, not  _just_  staring at Jehan).

When Jehan opened the door, Courfeyrac thrust the bouquet at him, exclaiming, “For you, love and light of my life: pansy for loving thoughts, hyacinth for sincerity, lilac for first love, and red rose for passionate love.”

Jehan accepted the bouquet, but there was something on his face like laughter, and Courfeyrac frowned, asking, “What is it?”

Clearing his throat gently, Jehan said, “I love the meaning you were trying to convey, Courf, and you nailed it one hundred percent with what those flowers represent, but there’s one problem - these aren’t those flowers.”

"Oh," said Courfeyrac, crestfallen, but he brightened considerably when Jehan laughed out loud, kissed him soundly and told him, "A for effort, though."


	5. E/R - Drunk pining!jolras

Enjolras tossed back the shot of Jack that he had playing with in front of him for the past several minutes, savoring the way that it burned going down, and signaled to the bartender for another, barely hearing her ask as she refilled the shot glass, “Why the long face, honey?”

Drinking the shot quickly, Enjolras made a face at the taste and answered hoarsely, “My boyf—my  _ex_ -boyfriend is out on a date with someone.”

"Well, alcohol never met a heartache that it couldn’t soothe," said the bartender, refilling his glass another time, though she shot him a concerned look, "but it’s also never found a heartache it could solve."

Enjolras laughed dryly and muttered, “Try telling my ex that.” He slammed the shot and automatically held it out for another, trying to douse the burning pain in his chest, the pain of knowing this was his fault, the pain of wishing he had known how to fix this before it broke, the permanent pain of having lost the only man he had ever loved.


	6. Joly/Jehan - first date

They had done this walk a thousand times before, shoes scuffing against the pavement as they laughed and joked on their way home from class, because for whatever reason, Joly’s biology lab got out just five minutes before Jehan’s Russian literature lecture, and so he would wait for Jehan, and they would talk to the Musain together.

It was on this walk that they had talked and laughed and fallen just a little bit in love over the course of the semester, this walk where Joly had stammered out the question asking Jehan to go on a date with him, this walk where Jehan had blushed and nodded and laughed his agreement.

And it was on this walk, that night, on their first date, following the same sidewalks, that Joly casually took Jehan’s hand for the first time, on this walk that Jehan wove his fingers with Joly’s, and this walk where they stopped walking just so that they could kiss each other for the first time.


	7. Éponine/Combeferre - Bad Monster Movies

A whimper sounded in the dark, followed almost immediately by an unsympathetic snigger before Éponine clicked the lights in the living room on, laughing down at Combeferre, who had previously had his face buried in Éponine’s lap, unable to watch the bad monster film that Éponine had insisted upon watching. She sat back down next to him after pausing the movie, running a hand through his hair and asking teasingly, “Little too much for you to handle, huh?”

Combeferre glared up at her, though he had relaxed visibly since the movie had been turned off, stating tersely, “I just don’t like things popping out at me unexpectedly, and loud noises and whatever else, ok?”

Though she still chuckled, Éponine pulled Combeferre up and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips, saying softly, “Well, I can think of something that could keep your mind off it for the rest of the movie.”

And sure enough, Combeferre didn’t so much as flinch for the rest of the movie, his mind - and hands, and lips - on something very different and far more human than the monster film.


	8. E/R - Thunderstorm

The flash of lightning was bright enough and following crash of thunder was loud enough to wake Enjolras from the deadest of sleep, the kind that he rarely was able to achieve when he spent most nights grabbing the four or five hours he had remaining where he wasn’t working on other things. But as soon as he heard the thunder, he knew what would be going on, and so roused himself from bed, running a half-hearted hand through his curls in a vain attempt to tame them, and then shuffled out to the living room.

Sure enough, Grantaire was sitting on the windowsill, cigarette dangling from his fingertips, knees drawn up to his chest, watching the lightning with wide eyes, and turning to blink at Enjolras when he came in, muttering a quiet “Hey.”

Enjolras didn’t say a word, just heading over to Grantaire and wrapping his arms around him, letting Grantaire relax against him as he carded his fingers through Grantaire’s curls. They stayed that way for several minutes until the worst of the storm had passed, and then without lifting his head from where it was pressed against Enjolras, Grantaire murmured quietly, “Thank you”, and Enjolras just wordlessly pressed a kiss to the top of Grantaire’s head before grabbing his hand and tugging him back towards bed.


	9. Jehan & Grantaire BroTP - Art

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrequited E/R.

Grantaire and Jehan sat next to each other on the couch, Jehan scribbling in his notebook, Grantaire doodling in his sketchpad, comfortable silence swirling between them, the kind that had been built up over years of assuming the same position, always on Jehan’s couch, always with a terrible movie playing the background.

The silence was broken that day by Grantaire sighing and shutting his sketchpad with more force than was probably necessary, the sigh speaking far more volumes than words ever could, enough to make Jehan look up and ask concernedly, “What?”

"I can’t…I can’t fucking stop drawing him," Grantaire seemed to choke out against his will (Jehan was the only one who could get Grantaire to tell the truth with little to no prodding, cajoling, pleading, threatening, etc.).

Jehan didn’t need to ask who - he knew exactly who Grantaire was talking about, the same man who had featured so strongly in Grantaire’s artwork for the past two years, and the same man who was entirely ignorant to that fact - and he suggested, softly, “You could talk to him about it.”

It was a stupid idea and they both knew it - what was Grantaire going to say, ‘Oh, hey, Enj, just wanted to show you these drawings I’ve made of you, hope you like them, oh by the way I’m hopelessly in love with you”? - but Grantaire just snorted noncommittally and opened his sketchpad back up, because if he couldn’t have Enjolras in real life, it was still second best to have drawings with his features rendered perfectly filling the sketchbooks and canvases that were more Grantaire’s soul than anything else.


	10. Feuilly/Éponine - High School AU

In any other setting besides high school, it might have worked, but here, within these concrete walls that made it seem more like a prison than a school, where your popularity could be determined by the table you sat at in the cafeteria (where tables just feet apart could make the world of difference to how your life for four years would turn out), it was almost doomed from the beginning.

She wasn’t a part of their group, the group that took up two tables in the cafeteria not because their numbers demanded it but mostly because some of their number demanded it (Grantaire liked to take up three seats so he could sleep, while Bahorel lounged across four other ones, and between Combeferre’s and Joly’s books, another three seats were taken up), the group that between its members spent more time in detention than out of it, always in protest of one of the administration’s actions or policies, the group that Feuilly called his family (because his foster parents, though actually nice for once, weren’t family, didn’t understand him like this group did, and besides, the best family is the one you choose for yourself). 

No, Éponine didn’t spend her lunches with them, instead sitting at the table in the far back of the lunch room, where the roving lunch monitors could barely see what the group, the gang, really, called Patron-Minette, was up to; when she was dating Montparnasse she sat in his lap and made out with him most of the time, and when they weren’t dating she would still sit back there, looking equally parts haughty and bored as the boys planned their various high school crimes for the upcoming week. 

Sometimes her eyes would meet Feuilly’s, and she would smile, just a little, as would he, because while they weren’t  _friends_ , not really, anyway, they had been stuck in the same tech theatre class when both their other electives fell through (studio art for Feuilly, journalism for Éponine), and there was a camaraderie born between two people who desperately don’t want to be there, the kind of camaraderie demonstrated between attempts to make the other laugh, to make the time pass more quickly with notes passed back and forth, the kind of friendship that could never exist outside the walls of that classroom.

But every so often they would see each other, and smile, and Feuilly would blush just a little and wish that he could pull off ripped leather and piercings because then, you know,  _maybe_ , but in the meantime both just hung out with their respective circles, their respective friends who didn’t understand, who maybe never could (and somedays, Éponine opens her locker to find the most intricately beautiful paper fan had been pushed carefully through the slats, and her smile that day is just a little bit brighter, and when Feuilly catches sight of that, he sighs just a little and thinks that maybe it’s worth it just the way it is).


	11. E/R - new baby

When they’d gotten word that their surrogate had given birth, the moment for which they had waited for nine months, nine months that had tested their patience in all ways possible, Enjolras and Grantaire looked at each other, experiencing the thrill of feeling the same panic and excitement written on each other’s face, and Grantaire breathed, “Our baby’s been born, our daughter,” and with a laugh, Enjolras grabbed Grantaire’s hand and kissed him soundly.

They picked up their newborn daughter from the hospital the next day (having spent the previous day doing last minute shopping for all the things that they had forgotten they would need, despite three different baby showers thrown by Cosette, Éponine, and Musichetta), and both crowded in front of the nursery window, trying in vain to find their daughter among the other babies (“That one,” Grantaire whispered, pointing directly ahead, “she’s got your nose”, but Enjolras frowned and said patiently, “That one’s wearing a blue hat, so it’s a boy”, something in his tone disapproving of forced gender conformity by society from birth).

Then the nurse brought their baby out to them, and they looked at each other, wondering silently which one of them would get to hold her first, and Enjolras smiled and squeezed Grantaire’s arm, whispering, “You go first, love,” and so the nurse gently placed the wrapped bundle in Grantaire’s arms.

Grantaire kissed his daughter gently on the forehead and closed his eyes, tears clinging to his eyelashes as he held her close, her warm, solid weight feeling somehow as if it belonged in his arms, as if it had always belonged in his arms.

Enjolras kissed first Grantaire’s temple, then his daughter’s forehead, and then Grantaire’s lips, wrapping an arm around Grantaire’s shoulder and drawing him close, his free hand resting protectively on his daughter’s head, grinning with wonder when she extricated a tiny hand from her blanket and clutched at his finger, and Grantaire stated with so much joy it sounded as if he would burst with it, “Look, we’re a family”, and really, they were.


	12. Joly/Combeferre/Jehan - Living together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was my first attempt at polyamory, so keep that in mind.

Jehan and Joly were both flighty - in almost the literal sense of the word - in their own way, heads in their own clouds; Jehan could get lost in his own head, in the lines that he scribbed on any free surface (a notebook, a napkin, his arm, his boyfriends’ arms, and occasionally traced with his tongue in a way that felt like fire and made Combeferre shudder with want), spending much of his time outdoors, with the flowers, and in the winter chased his melancholy, the wild flights of fancy that sometimes left him in dangerous situations from when he had gone too far down that path.

And Joly…well, Joly’s mind was always working, always thinking, always a million miles away when he got that vertical wrinkle right between his eyes, just as prone to flights of fancy, even if his came in the form of staring for hours at his tongue in the mirror, convinced he could see something no one else could, or trying to count Jehan’s freckles because he thought there was a new one, and it could be melanoma.

Combeferre grounded them, patient and solid and careful, and in return, they both lifted him up, because they both loved so deeply and fully, even if they expressed it in different ways; in essence, they both kept him human

Like at nights, when Jehan would curl up next to Combeferre, half of his limbs splayed over him, while on Combeferre’s other side, Joly’s hand just touched Combeferre’s, not because he didn’t like cuddling - he did, especially after sex - but because he had read the studies on proper sleeping posture and thus slept on his back, pillow tucked under his knees to keep his spine in the proper position, which was highly non-conducive to spooning, but the amount of love that flowed between Combeferre and Joly’s just clasped fingers more than matched the amount shared between the negative space between Jehan’s body and Combeferre’s.

Their little piece of happiness was not perfect, just as nothing is perfect - Jehan could get lost in the darkness such that even Joly and Combeferre couldn’t rouse him from it for days, or Joly could give himself a panic attack from worrying over the cough that he had developed of recent, or Combeferre could forget to eat and to sleep during finals and snap at both Joly and Jehan until one of them cried - but they balanced each other perfectly even in those imperfect moments (though they could not rouse him, Joly and Combeferre would nonetheless hold Jehan between them until the dark thoughts receded from his mind; Combeferre would talk Joly through his panic attack while Jehan called around to see which doctor could see Joly to draw some blood and prove his fears wrong; Jehan would make Combeferre sleep, and even Joly would abandon his proper sleeping posture that night to curl next to him, so that when Combeferre awoke in the morning he could press gentle kisses of apology to both their foreheads), their love strong enough to get them through it.


	13. E/R - Sleepy Enjolras

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-era. Because why the hell not?

Grantaire had passed out in the back room of the Musain, as he normally did when Les Amis meetings ran long enough to merit several bottles of wine, as it had that evening - Grantaire’s cravat had been loosened somewhere around the third bottle of wine, his shirtsleeves rolled up not too long after that (his jacket had been lost long before the evening began, somewhere between his lodging and the Musain) - but he woke with a start at a sudden warm weight on his shoulder.

He cracked one eye open and then both snapped open in shock at the sight of blond curls resting against his shoulder from where Enjolras had lain his head right in the junction between Grantaire’s shoulder and neck. Though Grantaire desperately did not want this warmth to leave - whether the warmth from Enjolras’s skin pressed against his or the sudden warmth that had spread through Grantaire’s chest - he knew that to leave Enjolras would be to risk his wrath, so reluctantly, and half-praying this was not a mere dream from the wine, he shook Enjolras’s shoulder gently, whispering, “Enjolras, awaken; you should return to your quarters if you require rest, as you are too fair a visage to be seen here with me.”

Enjolras just clung to Grantaire tighter, his arms slipping around Grantaire’s waist as he buried his face against Grantaire’s shoulder, saying in a voice slurred with sleep (but similar to Grantaire’s wine-sodden slur), “M’tired, m’stay here.”

Grantaire opened his mouth to argue but Enjolras had already fallen asleep again, and though Grantaire knew he would undoubtedly face the wrath of not only Enjolras but Combeferre and whomever else for not putting Enjolras to bed, he also knew that this may be his sole chance to spend the evening in Enjolras’s arms, and so he looked down at Enjolras’s arm wrapped almost possessively around him (still in his red jacket that he had neglected to remove), and smiled as he drifted off to sleep (when the men next saw each other, neither met the other's eyes - neither also admitted it was the best night of sleep either had gotten in weeks).


	14. E/R - Gone wrong

It had started out so perfectly, at least as perfectly as anything between them could be: they fought, yes, but they had fought all the time before getting together that it was as natural to them as breathing, and besides, it was almost always followed up by make-up or just plain hate sex, the kind that left bruises in all the right places and hickies that refused to be covered up; Grantaire managed to convince Enjolras to hold hands in public and to occasionally engage in couple-y activities, including actually buying gifts for Valentine’s Day without a single complaint about rampant capitalism; Enjolras managed to convince Grantaire to cut back on drinking, at least as heavily as he used to; and in between the fights, they basked in each other, in cuddles on the couch, dinners made in the kitchen, Enjolras reading aloud from the newspaper while Grantaire painted.

But then it just…seemed to fade, as if they were just going through the motions of what had once made them so happy.

They tried to hide it, to disguise it, tried various desperate acts to bring back the spark and the passion that had once burned so brightly between them, but it was gone, made all the worse for the fact that it hadn’t broken, hadn’t snapped from a fight or from yelling or from any of the things that they had both privately feared would ruin them - it had simply, quietly disappeared.

And one day Grantaire sat across from Enjolras at their kitchen table and uttered the words that they had both dreaded for the longest time - “I’m leaving” and “I’m sorry” - while Enjolras just closed his eyes and nodded in understanding (because he did understand, and he, too, was sorry, sorry that he could not fix this, sorry most of all that there was nothing left to fix).

But leaving didn’t magically solve anything, just emphasized the gaping hole in each other’s lives where the other had once resided, because when you had once needed someone as desperately as you had needed oxygen, that was a scar that would not just disappear with time, but rather more like having a limb amputated and having to learn to live without it, even if neither of them wanted to (even if they both knew, deep down, that they had to). 


	15. Les Amis coping with Grantaire's suicide

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ** TW: Suicide, character death, depression, etc. **

They tried not to blame Grantaire, as much as anyone tries not to do so in these kinds of situations, knowing that it wasn’t really his fault, that he had struggled with the demons inside of himself for so long, had fought so hard, but that in the end, the darkness and the demons won out, which was almost expected, in the most tragic of senses, and added to the reasons that they tried not to blame Grantaire.

Instead, they mostly blamed themselves, wondering individually and collectively what they could have done to prevent it: in a medical sense, Joly blamed himself hardest, knowing he should have seen the signs of Grantaire’s depression worsening, and he sat up late and night and buried his head in his hands, sobbing, wishing he had done something because he was a doctor and damnit, it was his job to  _fix_  things, to  _fix_  people (nevermind the fact that Grantaire had been broken beyond repair for a long time); Jehan took it hard at first, as he would, being Grantaire’s best friend, but being Grantaire’s best friend, he knew better than most the darkness that had always permeated within Grantaire’s soul, and now that it was freed, Jehan had to believe that there was light there, and so he returned to smiling and laughing and painting pictures with his words long before everyone else, because he knew Grantaire was in a better place; Bossuet tried to be strong for Joly, who needed him now more than ever, but when he saw the way this ripped Joly apart, he couldn’t help but blame Grantaire, a little, with a simmering sort of resentment that he never spoke to another person about as long as he lived; Bahorel and Feuilly took their comfort in each other in the way that only they could - beating the shit out of each other and then having wildly passionate and rough sex - which started as only a one off deal, but then turned into once a week, twice a week, until they could no longer tell if the bruises are from the fighting or the sex but neither really cared (and it will leave them both feeling empty inside, emptier than they’ll ever admit, but better to feel empty than to feel completely broken); Courfeyrac kept his chin up, as he was the center, and his job was to try and hold them all together, but inside he could barely hold himself together, a vortex of pain and rage and fear and feeling completely, utterly lost, even if you’d never know it from the smile he’d paste on his face and the jokes he’d tell in desperate attempts to cheer his friends; Combeferre best kept up a normal semblance of life before Grantaire’s suicide, continuing work and classes, seemingly dispassionate (but the others didn’t know how he cried himself to sleep every single night, how the only way he could even get to sleep is with increasing quantities of alcohol coupled with sleeping pills in a way that just flirts with the edge of danger - because it’s the only thing that made Combeferre feel even slightly alive); and then there was Enjolras.

Enjolras threw himself head-first into work for the cause, working even later hours than normal, oftentimes not sleeping at all, losing weight and looking almost gaunt, though his eyes shone with a fervor, though not the fervor they had previously possessed - the light of revolution - but rather the fervor of a man on the edge, a man filled with desperation and with pain, and with something creeping towards self-hatred, because of Les Amis, no one blamed himself the way Enjolras did.

This was in large part because no one else had the same memories to replay, over and over and over in their heads, the way Enjolras did, memories of far happier times, of stolen kisses, laughter, whispered conversations in bed, but also of the worst of times, of every fight, every raised voice, every word snapped in frustration and anger; no, only Enjolras had those memories to drag himself through, to flagellate himself with as though he could find the one that sent Grantaire over the edge, the one that had done it, and hate himself all the more for it (never considering that every touch, every kiss, every moment together had kept Grantaire holding on for far longer than he had ever thought possible).

Les Amis saw how it ate Enjolras up inside, but none knew the words that could comfort him, if such words even existed, and so when word came that Enjolras had gotten himself killed in a protest that turned into a riot, none of them blamed Enjolras for that either.


	16. Courfeyrac's dark side

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I neither know nor care if this is modern or canon.

Everyone forgot that for all that Courfeyrac seemed like the kitten, he had quite a bit of the tomcat in him as well; he had claws and often mercilessly shredded those he cared about most, often without meaning to do so.

It was why he so often avoided meaningful relationships, why he scorned monogamy - if he was just going to hurt the other person in the long run, surely it was easier, surely it was gentler to let him or her down from the beginning rather than leaving whomever to fall in love with him, and to have his or her heart trampled (because he would break that person’s heart, inevitably, just as he always did).

So he slept around and never kept a paramour for longer than a week at most, because that was the time it took for someone to start to wonder if this was becoming something, which meant it was high time he proved that it wasn’t; he left a string of heartsore lovers in his wake, and everyone laughed and clapped him on the shoulder and told him that he was a heartbreaker and he would wink roguishly and tell them conspiratorially that he just hadn’t found the right person to settle down with, giving hope enough to those who still sought to pursue him, hope that they would be different, they would be the right person for him.

And it was lonely, far lonelier than he dared even thinking about, for while he rarely spent the night alone, that was not the kind of company he craved; he had been considered the center for so long that he thought everyone had forgotten how hard it could be to be the center and be so completely, utterly alone.

There was, of course, no use dwelling on it, as a man could no more change his nature than change the stars, and so he put on the same jovial smile, the same laughing grin, the same roguish charm, never letting anyone in, never letting anyone see just how lonely it was to be the dashing and debonair Monsieur de Courfeyrac.


	17. E/R - Getting a pet

"No," said Grantaire, voice firm, staring down into the pouting eyes of his boyfriend, who was holding on to a scruffy brown mess of fur that roughly resembled a dog, its own dark eyes also pouting up at him, pink tongue lolling from its mouth (the dog’s, not the boyfriend, though that did lead to several distracting thoughts of Enjolras’s tongue and the uses it had been put to last night…), "no, we are not keeping that dog, this is not Courfeyrac’s and we do not take in strays."

Though Enjolras’s lips quirked in a smile at the thinly-veiled reference to Courfeyrac’s “adoption” of Marius, he quickly reassumed his most pleading expression, begging Grantaire, “Please, Taire - I’ve wanted a dog forever but I’m never home to take care of it, but between you and I, we should be home often enough to feed it and let it outside and play with it, and, just, pretty please?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes but pressed a kiss to Enjolras’s lips, sighing, “You know I can never resist you when you beg, but I promise you, I am not cleaning up any dog shit, and you are responsible for training that thing.”

True to his word, Grantaire played no role in training the dog, which Enjolras excitedly named Robespierre, never mind how much of a mouthful that was when trying to call the damn thing, and as the weeks passed, Grantaire regarded Robespierre at best with mild tolerance, and at worst with disdain for stealing away Enjolras’s attention from where it rightly belonged, rolling his eyes and scowling when Enjolras spent time rolling around on the floor teaching Robespierre new tricks.

But Enjolras knew better, because he came home early from work one day to find Grantaire passed out on the couch with Robespierre cuddling up with him, and though when Grantaire awoke he frowned and muttered, “Stupid mutt” in Robespierre’s direction, Enjolras couldn’t miss the way that Grantaire automatically petted the dog right where he liked it, behind his left ear, or the way Robespierre came and sat by Grantaire’s side, and even slept on the floor on Grantaire’s side of the bed, or the way Grantaire would slip him little bits of food while making dinner, even if he complained loudly about the dog being in the kitchen, and when finally Grantaire sighed and admitted grudgingly that maybe keeping the dog hadn’t been a bad idea after all, Enjolras couldn’t help but grin.


	18. E/R - Little Red Riding Hood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just...I apologize preemptively.

Enjolras walked slowly through the darkening woods, pulling his red cloak tighter around his blond curls, eyes watching warily for any signs of trouble, for though he had taken this road through the forest on a number of occasions to bring food and other things to his grandmother, one never knew when something dark or dangerous may be lurking for the unsuspecting traveller.

Such as a large hairy wolf that suddenly jumped out at him, baring its nasty yellowed fangs, claws reaching for Enjolras, growling, “I’m the Big Bad Wolf. What have you got in your basket?”

Enjolras stared at the wolf for a long moment and then burst out laughing, laughing even harder when Grantaire pulled off the mask and scowled at him, though his eyes were twinkling mischievously as he reminded him, “You know, it was  _your_  idea to turn Little Red Riding Hood into some kind of twisted sex fantasy.”

Holding his side from laughing so hard, Enjolras gasped, “I know, and it seemed like such a good idea at the time since I had just found that stupid red cape that Jehan bought me from the thrift store that one time, but this is  _not_  going to work.”

Grantaire growled again and pushed Enjolras down onto the ground, clambering on top of him and nipping at his jawline, biting and sucking bruises all the way down his neck, fingers fumbling with where Enjolras had tied the cloak under his chin, running the fabric through his fingers thoughtfully as he noted, “Well, there are other options to explore for using this; I’m thinking of some Superman/Lois Lane fantasies, what do you think?” and then it was Enjolras’s turn to growl and pull Grantaire down so he could kiss him.


	19. Grantaire & Courfeyrac Zumba

"I’m not wearing that," said Grantaire instantly when Courfeyrac, beaming wildly, showed him the sparkly hip scarf he had ‘procured’ for Grantaire to wear while accompanying Courfeyrac to that night’s zumba class (Grantaire had, rather unfortunately, lost a bet to Courfeyrac and this was his punishment - smarmy bastard).

Courfeyrac put on his most pleading eyes, stating with an exaggerated pout, “But everyone will be wearing one; see, I’ve already got mine on,” giving his hips a little jiggle, grinning at the tinkling sound the charms on the scarf made, grinning even wider when Grantaire groaned and took the scarf from him to tie it unenthusiastically around his own waist. 

Of course, when they arrived at the zumba class, it was to find that not a single other person was wearing one of the stupid hip scarves, and the look that Grantaire gave Courfeyrac could have melted steel; Courfeyrac, of course, just laughed it off, telling Grantaire, “Hey, this way we’ll stick out.”

As it turned out, they didn’t need ridiculous hip scarves to stick out because both of them, plainly put, were terrible at zumba, and after the twentieth time of Courfeyrac running into the person either in front of, next to, or behind him (and on one memorable occasion, the person three down and two rows up from him, which no one could quite explain), while Grantaire mostly just kept saying “Fuck” in increasing volume with each step that he missed, the instructor politely suggested that they find a class more suited to their individual needs, which Grantaire and Courfeyrac took as a sign to leave, looking at each other and simultaneously asking, “Bar?”

Several drinks later, they had chalked the experience up as not one of Courf’s better ideas, and Courfeyrac even apologized for making Grantaire wear the stupid hip scarf, and told Grantaire he could give it back, but Grantaire, face a little flushed - whether from the drinks or something else - muttered that he wanted to keep it, as a souvenir, he told Courfeyrac (but really he was thinking of the varied uses that something of that nature could have in bed with a certain blond revolutionary).


	20. E/R - Pain Meds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: drug use, prescription drug abuse**
> 
> Sort of pre-E/R.

When Enjolras had been injured in the riot last month, he had mostly laughed it off, though Joly had insisted he see a doctor about his shoulder, which had been dislocated, and Enjolras had, and had been prescribed painkillers, which Enjolras had taken for as long as the doctor had recommended, but then he…sort of just kept taking them, not for pain, per se, but because they relaxed him, in an odd sort of way, the kind of relaxed he hadn’t felt in years, and though he made sure never to take them when he needed his mind clear and focused, he would pop a few when he knew he would be confronting situations that were best faced…well, in a more relaxed state.

Which was how he found himself slipping a few pills before a Les Amis meeting because he just didn’t feel like facing Grantaire that day, not wanting to face the antagonism and the near-constant sniggers from the corner and everything that would normally put Enjolras’s back up, though not today, not with this on his side; Enjolras could face anything like this.

He needn’t have worried, since Grantaire was uncharacteristically quiet, something like worry in his eyes as he nursed a single beer and watched Enjolras, who managed to get through the entire meeting with little problem, until afterwards, when Grantaire came up and asked to speak with him, and Enjolras followed him into the hallway, a little confused, until Grantaire managed to fish the bottle of pills out of Enjolras’s pocket, holding them up silently as Enjolras flushed, before asking quietly, “Did you think I wouldn’t recognize the symptoms, Enjolras, me of all people?”

"It’s different," snapped Enjolras, grabbing the pills and stuffing them back in his pocket, though his face was pink and he couldn’t quite meet Grantaire’s eyes, ‘I’m not an addict or anything, the pills, they just…help, ok, and I can quit anytime I want."

"Words that every addict before you has said at some point," said Grantaire sharply, grabbing Enjolras’s chin and forcing him to look up, "and damnit, Enj, I won’t let you do this to yourself, not you of all people, because God…you’re scaring me" (and if nothing else, the waver in Grantaire’s voice when he admitted that shook Enjolras to his very core, and after a few hesitant moments, his arms circled Grantaire’s shoulders, and Grantaire wrapped his own arms around Enjolras’s waist and pulled him close, holding him as tightly as he dared, as if he couldn’t bear to let him go - because he couldn’t, and he wouldn’t, and if Grantaire managed nothing else in his life, he would find a way to make this right).


	21. Courfeyrac & Grantaire go to Pride

Courfeyrac frowned at his roommate and asked for the hundredth time, “Are you sure you don’t want to come?”, to which Grantaire just rolled his eyes and nodded, not even finding it worth it to respond, yet again, because why in the world would Courfeyrac think that Grantaire would want to go to Pride - in fact, why would Courfeyrac think that Grantaire had ever wanted to go to Pride, because while he was gay, Grantaire wasn’t ‘gay’ in the happy sense of the word, and the thought of prancing through the streets (because if he was with Courfeyrac, there would be prancing) wearing pride flags and waving at small children made Grantaire nauseous.

No, Grantaire was gay and proud, but just preferred celebrating his pride on his couch, preferably with a beer in his hand, wearing his customary black t-shirt and green hoodie rather than the garish rainbow colors he would be expected to wear otherwise, the colors Courfeyrac was wearing currently as he pursed his lips slightly and sighed, telling Grantaire, “Fine, if you’re sure you want to stay here, then I’m going to call Enjolras and have him spend the day with you.”

"Isn’t Enjolras going to be at Pride?" asked Grantaire, raising an eyebrow because Enjolras never missed these kinds of events, this kind of opportunity to reach out to a large audience to ignite passion for the cause.

Courfeyrac laughed and said, “Oh, I forgot, you weren’t there last year - Enjolras got banned from Pride this year because he staged a counter-protest to the people protesting Pride, and the Pride organizers told him that while they appreciated the sentiment, the militant activism that Enjolras was advocating didn’t align with Pride’s goals of openness and inclusiveness - or some bullshit like that - and Enjolras got mad, surprise of all surprises, and he told them that their conformity to societal expectations of homosexual normativity didn’t align with Pride’s goals of LGBTQA activism, and moral of the story, Enjolras got banned this year and I hear he’s still pretty pissed about it, which should make him excellent company for you.”

Grantaire paled, because Enjolras was legendary when in a bad mood, especially when it was for something that he considered an insult to the cause, and he stood, clearing his throat and saying quickly, “You know, I think I’ll come to Pride this year after all,” and so he did, and he even allowed Jehan to put a rainbow-colored flower crown on his head (he had drawn the line at wearing rainbow colored clothing), and he even managed to find himself fairly entertained, though mostly because he kept sending a steady stream of pictures to Enjolras, all captioned, ‘Wish you were here! xo’ (because Enjolras was distinctly less terrifying when in a bad mood far away, and besides, it would give Enjolras something else to be mad at besides just the Pride organizers, and Grantaire knew Enjolras always did his best planning when he was angry at Grantaire).


	22. E/R - Protest Gone Wrong

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Mild gun violence**

The protest had turned ugly, and quickly, and Enjolras scanned the crowd, ensuring that all of Les Amis were in their usual places, the prearranged strategy for what to do when the riot police showed up, the escape routes each was meant to take, etcetera, when he caught sight of someone who wasn’t in his correct place: Grantaire, who instead of lurking near the alley he was supposed to head down in instances like this, was standing in front of a group of teenagers, using his own body as a shield to buy them time to escape (and no, no, Enjolras did  _not_  find that heroic because damnit they had a plan and they were supposed to stick to the plan), and then one of the policemen opened fire on Grantaire, and Enjolras’s entire world stopped.

He didn’t care about the plan, he didn’t care about the fact that they had all discussed in nauseating detail what to do in these situations, because this was  _Grantaire_ , this was not a hypothetical, this was not some nameless person to be sacrificed for the cause, and Enjolras was running as fast as he could, pushing through the crowd, his only goal to  _get to Grantaire_ , and he did, skidding to a stop and dropping to his knees, hands fluttering uselessly over Grantaire’s chest as he whispered (or shouted, it was hard to tell with his heartbeat pounding in his ears), “Grantaire, oh my God, Grantaire!”

Grantaire cracked one eye open and groaned something that Enjolras couldn’t hear, so he leaned in closer and Grantaire repeated through clenched teeth, “It was a bean bag round, Apollo, I’m gonna be fine.”

Enjolras’s hands stilled but did not move from their position splayed across Grantaire’s chest, and he took several shuddering breaths, willing his heartbeat to return to a normal pace as he choked out, “I thought…God, Grantaire, I thought…”

"Hey, it’s ok," said Grantaire concernedly, still wheezing slightly from being hit, one of his hands reaching up to circle Enjolras’s wrist as he whispered again, "It’s ok," and Enjolras nodded, slowly, because it was ok, because Grantaire was ok, and despite the riot police that were moving in to arrest both of them, despite the fact that this would mean another night spent in a jail cell, despite the fact that in a lot of ways this was a terrible cliché, Enjolras couldn’t help but bend down to kiss Grantaire, who after a brief frozen moment, kissed him back, free hand reaching up to tangle in Enjolras’s hair, and they stayed that way until the police pulled them apart (and Grantaire wondered if Officer Diaz was working booking tonight at the station, and if he could talk him into letting Enjolras and him share a cell because they had a lot to talk about - or not talk about, as the case may be).


	23. E/R - Narcotics Anonymous

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [this drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915986/chapters/1791758). **TW for drug addiction**.

"Hi, my name is Grantaire, and I’m a heroin addict," said Grantaire with the ease of someone who has uttered this statement many times before, which given how comfortable he looked standing up in the front of the room of strangers - and Grantaire never looked comfortable standing in front of a crowd, so this was saying something - he clearly had, and Enjolras, from his position in the third row, crossed his arms in front of his chest, expression speculative, because while he had agreed to accompany Grantaire to Narcotics Anonymous, he was unconvinced that he needed to be here, despite Grantaire’s quiet insistence otherwise.

Still, as Grantaire continued, Enjolras listened, learning more than he had ever imagined about Grantaire’s past, which he had previously known was sketchy before meeting Les Amis, but had not known any details about, such as the fact that Grantaire had been expelled from three different high schools, had started using drugs at age 15, had tried to get clean at age 17 but had relapsed - and hard - and as Enjolras listened, he couldn’t help but noticed some similarities in Grantaire’s story to his own, similarities that made him squirm uncomfortably, such as the fact that Grantaire had insisted that he didn’t have a problem, had claimed that he could quit anytime he wanted, only to find out that it was far harder than that, a lesson he hadn’t learned until it was almost too late for him.

"But," Grantaire finished, smiling at Enjolras, "I ended up getting clean, and I met some of the best friends I’ve ever had, friends that, though they may not know it, have helped keep me clean, and I’ve been clean for two years, eight months and twenty-three days."

The room broke into applause and Grantaire went to sit down next to Enjolras, who he nudged gently with his shoulder, saying in an undertone, “Just remember, the first step is admitting you have a problem; it will be the hardest thing you ever have to do but I’m here ok?”, and he grabbed Enjolras’s hand and squeezed it.

Enjolras took a deep breath and stood, walking to the front of the room, wiping his hands on the front of his jeans, taking another shaky breath and gripping the podium with both hands before looking into the crowd, his eyes meeting Grantaire’s, and Grantaire smiled and nodded, and Enjolras swallowed hard and said, “My name is Enjolras, and I’m a drug addict.”


	24. Bahorel & Feuilly - Hockey Game

Bahorel frowned down at the ice, eyes narrowed as he watched the padded figures skating around in circles to warm up, and then his eyes switched to Feuilly, accusingly, as he muttered from the corner of his mouth, “You said there’d be fighting.”

Feuilly rolled his eyes and took a swig of his overpriced beer, wishing fervently that Grantaire hadn’t had to back out of coming with him to the hockey game at the last minute (because Grantaire, though a miserable son-of-a-bitch most of the time, was always pleasant enough company, particularly when it involved raucous cheering and drinking beer, but Grantaire had had a  _date_ , and though Feuilly had yelled “Bros before ho’s” at Grantaire over the phone, he hadn’t really blamed him because the date was with Enjolras and, well, Feuilly understood) and told Bahorel, “There will be, I promise, or I pick up your bar tab for the month, alright?”

Sure enough, five minutes into the first period found Bahorel down at the glass, pounding on it and yelling himself hoarse as two players were going at it, helmets and gloves off, pounding on each other with ferocity as Bahorel cheered them on with growing enthusiasm as the fight wore on.

When the fight ended, both of the players were hauled off to their respective penalty boxes and Bahorel rejoined Feuilly at their seats, grinning widely, and Feuilly gave him a sideways glance before draining his beer and saying, “Told you so.”

Bahorel just grinned even wider and told Feuilly excitedly, “I have no idea what just happened, I have no idea what team I’m even supposed to be rooting for, but hockey is  _awesome_ ,” and Feuilly just sighed and shook his head, realizing he had unfortunately gained a new hockey game companion.


	25. Les Amis meet the film actors who played them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is inexcusable crack.
> 
> ...made worse by the fact that there are two more parts to this still to come.

George and Grantaire stared at each other cautiously, both assessing the other, recognizing the other, completely and utterly baffled as to how this was happening, but both unwilling to voice those thoughts out loud in case this was actually just a mass hallucination (Grantaire from too much absinthe, George from being hit in the head one too many times during filming for  _Vikings_ ), and then Grantaire shrugged and held the bottle in his hand out to George, who took it carefully, sniffed at it, took a swig, paled, and handed it back, coughing out, “Um, thanks.”

Meanwhile, the rest of Les Amis were meeting their real life counterparts, often with suspicious glances, although Combeferre and Killian took one look at each other and instantly began chatting as if they were long-lost friends, while Courfeyrac was busy describing his latest sexual adventure to an increasingly uncomfortable Fra.

Bossuet and Joly were explaining something in undertones to Hugh and Stuart, who were exchanging confused glances with each other and subconsciously edging apart, Stuart almost running into Jehan, who was looking increasingly indignant at whatever Alistair was explaining to him, muttering furiously, “Flowers are to be cultivated, mon ami, not picked recklessly even for the purpose of these ‘couronnes de fleurs’.”

Feuilly was animatedly telling Gabriel all about Poland, and Iwan just sighed, nicked a bottle of wine and sat down with Bahorel, telling him mournfully, “Hate to tell you, mate, but we were barely in the damn film,” and between the two of them, they split the bottle, voices gaining in volume as they drank.

They had all mostly settled in to chatting with each other, as awkward as it was, somehow accepting the bizarre set of circumstances that had enabled them all to be here in the same room with each other, when a sudden shriek pierced the group, and all eyes turned to look at Enjolras, who was staring at Aaron, who had just taken off his baseball cap, with abject horror, exclaiming furiously, “What did you do to my  _hair_?!”


	26. Les Amis meet the film actors who played them (pt. 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued from the last chapter. I'm just...I'm really sorry.

The silence was palpable, the atmosphere tense, and everyone just kept exchanging glances, unwilling to break the silence, unwilling to be the ones to approach either Aaron or Enjolras, who hadn’t spoken since Enjolras had lost it over Aaron’s haircut (“It’s not  _your_  hair,” Aaron had seethed, still touchy about the response that something as stupid as a haircut had received, and then added, “Besides, I wore a wig in the film”, which had made Enjolras gasp and clutch his own curly locks as if to ensure that his hair was real).

Suddenly, the silence was broken by Eddie, who burst in, dragging Marius behind him, shouting excitedly, “Guys, have you seen—”, cutting himself off when he saw everyone staring at him (Courfeyrac grabbed Marius to explain the situation to him, while Fra took Eddie’s arm and led him over to the sidelines, whispering urgently in his ear).

George nudged Grantaire in the ribs and pried the bottle from his hands, nodding towards Enjolras as he said softly, “You should talk to him, convince him that it’s not the end of the world or something; remind him that the revolution is more important than a haircut, yeah?”, and when Grantaire gave him a withering look, George just shrugged and said confidently, “If anyone can do it, you can.”

With a sigh, Grantaire slumped over to where Enjolras was sulking, crouching down next to him and muttering something to him in undertones, something that made Enjolras frown at first and then grudgingly smile, clapping Grantaire on the shoulder.

As Enjolras stood to apologize to Aaron, who appeared mollified by his apology, the two of them shaking hands, George and Jehan, who happened to be standing next to each other, sighed in unison at the exchange between Grantaire and Enjolras, then looked at each other, wide-eyed, until Jehan asked in a whisper, nodding at Enjolras and at Grantaire, “You…they…?”, and George smiled, nodded, and said wistfully, “Yeah, I ship it.”


	27. E/R - Age Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Brief mentions of self-harm, implied alcoholism**

It had never bothered them in elementary school, though perhaps it should have, a fifth-grader playing with a first-grader, but Enjolras was no normal first-grader (and would not be a first-grader for long, skipping into third-grade at the end of his first), and Grantaire, always a little quiet and withdrawn, scrawny for his age, was also no normal fifth-grader, and for the entire year, they played together on the playground (which is to say that they mostly sat on the playground and argued with each other), Grantaire helping Enjolras with his homework when he needed it, and they would talk for hours about anything and everything, and when Grantaire left to go to middle school, Enjolras hugged him fiercely and told him that he would miss him more than anything in the world, while Grantaire just smiled his crooked smile and told him that they’d be friends forever.

But time has a way of separating, particularly those no longer bound by proximity, and while Enjolras made new friends in third grade (Combeferre and Courfeyrac, two of his best friends of all time), Grantaire had to face middle school by himself, the torture and torment of his peers, and being alone, he turned to drastic measures, to alcohol and to cutting and to isolating himself even further from his classmates, withdrawing into himself, knowing that he was everything they labelled him as - a loser, worthless, a  _freak_.

Enjolras did not see Grantaire again until he was a freshman in high school and by that point, he barely recognized the kid he had once told he would miss more than anything in the world; Grantaire was barely scraping by, with no hint of the sweet, sarcastic kid he once used to be, and Enjolras, who was busy establishing a social justice club and debate time at the high school found himself avoiding his former friend, having no idea how to help him (having no idea that just a small show of friendship would have helped him more than anything else in the world).

When they crossed paths again, Enjolras was a junior in college, ready to change the world, and Grantaire was loafing through his seventh year of on-again, off-again art school, drinking far too much, staying up all night, making what could only be described as regrettable life choices, and when Enjolras sat down across from him one night in a bar, Grantaire blinked wearily up at him, gave him a half-smile, and muttered, “Hey.”

There were a million questions that Enjolras wanted to ask him, what he had been doing with his life, more importantly,  _why_  he had been doing it, what Grantaire had planned for the future, if anything, and why…just…why, but Grantaire’s eyes searched Enjolras’s face as if he could see every question written there plainly, and he just smiled tightly, drained his drink, and said hoarsely, “You’re fourteen years late to fix anything, Enj, so don’t even try” (and though he was correct, though Enjolras could not have fixed anything, he wanted to be able to start again, to try and start over with what they had, because a part of Enjolras had been missing since that day at the end of first grade when Grantaire had left, and maybe Grantaire wasn’t the only one a little bit broken, the only one who had needed someone else by his side for fourteen years).


	28. Éponine & Grantaire BroTP (E/R, Ép/Ferre)

Enjolras and Combeferre were at a conference, which meant for Grantaire and Éponine, it was time to do what they hadn’t done in years, not since their university days: eat a shitload of really terrible and cheap pizza, drink a shitload of really terrible and cheap tequila, play Mario Kart on N64 until 4 in the morning, and talk about boys - the same routine that they had followed on those long, shitty nights back when everything was so easy (but they had complained about it being hard), the days of their well-spent (depending on your definition of well-spent) youth.

Now things were a little different, since they were perched on Enjolras’s plush leather couch instead of Grantaire’s disgusting futon that he had “rescued” from someone’s garbage (technically the couch was Grantaire’s as well; a condition of him moving in with Enjolras was accepting that all of Enjolras’s things belonged to him as well, but he still hadn’t quite wrapped his head around that, so it was still firmly Enjolras’s couch), and they were drinking tequila from real, name-brand red Solo cups instead of the ones Grantaire swiped from the dorm cafeteria, but the game was the same, and the trash-talking was the same, as Éponine expertly cut Grantaire off on Koopa Troopa Beach, sending him spinning into the water as she chortled, “Ha ha, fuck you up the ass, bitch!”

"No thanks, Enjolras does that enough," said Grantaire offhandedly, maneuvering Yoshi out of the water with one hand on the controller while he swigged tequila with the other, and while he didn’t see the face she made at that, he chuckled nonetheless, though his smile quickly turned into a pout when she slugged him on the shoulder, saying in an offended tone, "Hey, watch it!"

She stuck her tongue out at him and paused the game, telling him at his raised eyebrow, “Oh, hush, you were going to lose anyway,” and turning to face him, sighing as she noted, “This would be the part of the evening where we would talk about boys, about how much of an asshole Montparnasse was—” (“Still is,” Grantaire snorted) “—or how much you simultaneously wanted to punch Enjolras in the face or wanted to kiss him, and then I would threaten to punch Enjolras in the dick for you, and you would threaten to punch Montparnasse for me, and then I would point out that Montparnasse would kill you, and you would amend your threat to say you would anonymously report Montparnasse to the police and…”, and here she sighed slightly, expression almost wistful, and asked, “When did our lives get so boring and normal?”

"I don’t know, but can you really say that you miss those days?" asked Grantaire, and when she shrugged, he put his arm around her shoulders and tugged her close to him, pressing a light kiss to her temple and saying softly, "Look, we had fun back then, but we still have fun now, and now instead of moping and hating life, we both have wonderful, fantastic men in our lives, and we still have each other, and honestly, that’s enough for me, and I wouldn’t trade it for the world" (and she smiled, and snuggled in closer to him, and whispered, "You’re only saying that because you could actually punch Combeferre without him killing you", laughing when Grantaire let out a strangled sigh and said, "Way to kill the mood, ‘Ponine.").


	29. E/R - Slow dancing to a love song

Marius and Cosette’s wedding was the first time Enjolras and Grantaire had seen each other, really seen each other, since That Night (the capital letters had been ascribed to the night in question due to its significance, That Night when they fought, which really shouldn’t have been that significant, but somewhere during the fight That Night, they had both thrown words at each other that had somehow broken whatever it was between them, that tenuous connection that Enjolras couldn’t begin to describe), and though neither wanted to admit it, the other looked  _really_  good - Enjolras, of course, always looked polished in a tux as a remnant of his days going to various black tie events growing up with his parents, and even Grantaire looked good when he actually put the effort in - and while they avoided each other at the actual ceremony, while they had been thankfully seated at different tables for the reception, they somehow found each other standing together watching their friends dance, and after a long moment, Grantaire asked softly, “Want to dance?”

Enjolras looked at him, about to refuse, but instead just nodded hesitantly, taking Grantaire’s hand and following him out on to the dance floor just as the song changed, and Grantaire let out a low huff of a laugh and muttered, “Of course”, tossing a glare at the DJ, but still he pulled Enjolras close, and the two swayed, slightly awkwardly at first, to the song, some slow crooning song that Enjolras didn’t recognize.

As the song continued, Enjolras felt himself relax, drawing even closer to Grantaire, closing his eyes and resting his head against Grantaire as if they had done this a thousand times before, as if what had happened between them hadn’t happened at all, as if they could still laugh and joke with each other the way they used to, as if Enjolras hadn’t ruined what maybe could have been the most perfect thing in his life if he had just given it a chance, and for a long moment, he didn’t even realize that Grantaire was half-whispering, half-singing the words of the song in Enjolras’s ear:

"Wherever you go, whatever you do  
I will be right here waiting for you  
Whatever it takes, or how my heart breaks  
I will be right here waiting for you”

Enjolras pulled back from Grantaire to look him in the eyes, something questioning within his own, and Grantaire just smiled, just slightly, his smile infinitely sad, his eyes filled with something close to longing, and he sang, even quieter than before, “I wonder how we can survive this romance, but in the end, if I’m with you, I’ll take the chance.”

And just like that, Enjolras understood, as if something had clicked into place, something he had somehow not noticed for so long, not just what Grantaire meant by the words, not just what Grantaire felt for him, but how Grantaire must have interpreted every rebuke, every scornful insult, and he thought about the way Grantaire would still smile at him sometimes, and he realized that he had been falling in love for longer than he cared to think about, and that he also been terrible and awful to Grantaire over the course of falling in love with him, and though he wanted to say so much, to explain, to apologize, to do or say  _something_ , instead he pulled Grantaire closer to him and kissed him, softly and gently, because Grantaire had been right here waiting for long enough.


	30. Courfeyrac/Marius - Courf picks Marius up from the Dentist

When Courfeyrac went to pick Marius up from having his wisdom teeth taken out, he didn’t know what he had expected, but it certainly hadn’t been for Marius to spot him and then stand and make his way primly over to where Courfeyrac waited, the only indication of his procedure being his swollen cheeks, but then, when he reached Courfeyrac, Marius threw his arms around Courfeyrac and all but collapsed against him, muttering incoherently, “When, free from all solitude, all harassing care, shall I be able to pass all my time with you, having only to love you, and to think only of the happiness of so saying, and of proving it to you?”

"The fuck?" was Courfeyrac’s response, trying in vain to get Marius to relinquish his death grip, telling him, "For fuck’s sake, Pontmercy, you’re going to have to help me get you to the car, because I am not carrying you."

He ended up carrying him to the car, depositing Marius in the front seat and just managed to slip away from his koala hold, even though Marius let out the most pitiful whimper at being separated from Courfeyrac, glomping back on to him as soon as Courf slid into the drivers seat, stroking his face for most of the ride home and continuing to mutter nonsense, and it wasn’t until Marius slurred, “I thought that I loved you months ago, but since my separation from you I feel that I love you a thousand fold more” that Courfeyrac realized what Marius was saying.

He started laughing almost hysterically, having to pull the car over because he was laughing so hard, and he asked Marius, “Are you fucking quoting one of Napoleon’s letters to Josephine to me, because you know I am going to tell Enjolras about this - I mean Jesus Christ, I’m going to tell _everyone_ about this - and you know how Enjolras feels about Napoleon, so do you have a death wish or something?”

Marius just hummed unconcernedly and nuzzled closer against Courfeyrac’s neck before murmuring, “Each day since I knew you, have I adored you yet more and more” (true to his word, Courfeyrac told literally every single person he knew about this, which forced Marius to avoid Enjolras for a solid two weeks, but he didn’t tell them the way that he kissed Marius soundly that night when he was more recovered - though thoroughly embarrassed - and whispered to him, “Love is for me complete happiness”).


	31. Feuilly/Bahorel - Prom

Bahorel asked Feuilly to prom the way that he would ask what Feuilly’s plans for the weekend were, leaning up against the locker next to Feuilly’s (the poor kid whose locker it actually was tended to carry all of his stuff with him to every class because he had learned long ago not to bother asking the hulking figure who leaned on his locker everyday during every passing period to move) and casually saying, “So you and I should go to prom together”, to which Feuilly just kind of half-shrugged and nodded, a small grin spreading across his face.

Of course, it was them, and because it was them, things did not go according to plan: their tux rentals ended up getting screwed up so that instead of wearing matching tuxes, Bahorel got a white tux with black dress shirt and blue bow tie and pocket square, and Feuilly got a black tux with white dress shirt and blue skinny tie and vest, and though they ended up looking quite dashing together, it was only a sign of bad things to come; their flower order got messed up as well and instead of two boutonnieres they wound up with two wrist corsages; and above all when they arrived at the banquet hall where prom was being held, Bahorel came to the realization that he had completely forgotten to purchase tickets.

Feuilly huffed a sigh and slumped against the wall, fiddling with the scratchy material of his corsage as he glared at Bahorel and muttered, “Fucking typical, man, you had  _one fucking job_  to do.”

Bahorel, in the meantime, was contemplatively examining the windows and walls of the banquet hall, and he threw Feuilly a look and told him, “Shut the fuck up, I may have an idea.”

Ten minutes and one heart-pounding moment where a chaperone almost caught them slipping through the semi-open window of the girls’ bathroom - of course it was the fucking girls’ bathroom - Bahorel and Feuilly found themselves slow-dancing to the generic pop song du jour (Courfeyrac had already waltzed by with Jehan, singing the lyrics at the top of his lungs), and Feuilly grinned at Bahorel and admitted, “Alright, maybe you didn’t fuck up after all”, which for Feuilly, was practically an ‘I love you’ and Bahorel smirked and grabbed Feuilly’s ass (which was basically him saying, ‘I love you, too’).


	32. Combeferre/Grantaire - Combeferre as a Werewolf

The shift is agony, plain and simple, muscles elongating and filling out, fur sprouting from nowhere, eyes changing and moving, ears lengthening and rotating, jaw stretching into a muzzle, and the bones are the worst – nothing can compare to the break of nearly every bone in his body to shift and contort and twist and  _snap_  and it hurts worse than anything Combeferre has ever experienced or will ever experience again (except that he will experience it again – next month, at the next full moon, just as he has endured this every month since getting bitten, and just as he will endure this every month until he dies).

But then, when that last bone snaps into place, when the faint breeze across his nostrils stirs tantalizing scents to discover and explore, then he unfolds his four legs and takes off at a dead sprint, the previously cold night air warm against his silvery fur, every sound in the forest filling his ears, and it’s something that he could never experience as a human, when everything seems so flat, when the world seems so still, and for a brief moment as he runs, the agony seems entirely worth it just for these moments in symbiosis with the entire living world.

And he runs, his paws pounding across the soil, and his heart beats strong and without straining in his chest as he seems to fly with the wind, tasting freedom on his tongue that lolls in pure contentment because this,  _this_ , this is everything anyone could want, it seems, a strong body with steady legs that could carry him wherever he wants to go, far away from the world of man, far away from the inequality and injustice of the world, from the heartbreak and despair, from the worry that what they do will never be enough, that the world will never change, that maybe all of this is pointless; he could go anywhere, as far as he wished, could sleep when he wanted and hunt for his food and be free and proud and be a wolf forever.

Combeferre feels like he could keep running for an eternity, chasing the sunrise and the feeling of pure freedom that pounds in his chest, except for the memory of blue eyes and dark curls, the memory of a hand fisted in his human hair, a warm puff of breath against his cheek as a voice murmured, just this side of pleading, “Come back to me”, memories that anchor him (memories that keep him human).

So Combeferre wheels, turning his back on the dawn, on the expanse of unknown that lies before him, and runs towards those memories, toward the warm arms that will embrace him, to the familiar scent that contains Combeferre’s whole world, and to the person that Combeferre concentrates on as the only thing to get him through the agony of his shift, because Grantaire had him promise to come back to him long ago, and Combeferre always keeps his promises (and that morning when Combeferre slides under the sheets of their bed to snuggle against him, Grantaire will whisper in the same delighted voice, as if he cannot dare believe it himself, “You came back” – because Grantaire can’t believe it, even after all this time, because he recalls Combeferre’s description of the pure exhilaration of being a wolf and cannot fathom choosing boring, human him over that, but he doesn’t know that as soon as Combeferre noses his dark curls and loses himself in Grantaire’s familiar scent, he already forgotten every thought of running, every freedom of the wolf because here, in Grantaire’s arms, he’s home, and no feeling in the world can beat that).


	33. Les Amis meet the film actors who played them (pt. 3)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nope.

Once the subject of Aaron’s hair had finally been discussed and the air cleared, the conversation returned to normal, although Marius appeared to be having a harder time than most wrapping his head around what was happening (to be fair, he seemed mostly concerned as to why Amanda and Cosette were not there - the fact that he gave no passing thought to where Sam and Éponine were spoke typical volumes), but they all seemed to settle in together, friends old and new, characters mingling with actors (Bahorel and Iwan were still chatting animatedly in a bizarre mix of French, Welsh and English, and none but the two of them seemed to understand what either was saying, while Killian had stolen the bottle they had been drinking from and was encouraging Combeferre to have some; Fra and Prouvaire seemed to hit it off, while Courfeyrac, Alistair, Stuart and Feuilly broke out a deck of cards; and Gabriel and Joly were deep in discussion while Bossuet was admiring Hugh’s hair).

George leaned against the back wall, sipping from the beer he held loose in his hands, about to go join Killian in his increasing hilarious interactions with Combeferre, who was looking more and more disgruntled, when Aaron walked up, sipping from his own beer and giving George an appraising smile and a quiet, “Hey,” which George returned, a little cautiously, not because they weren’t on good terms but because they hadn’t spoken much while on set together (or much since).

Aaron raised an eyebrow and nodded in the direction of Enjolras and Grantaire, who were deep in conversation, Enjolras’s hand resting lightly on Grantaire’s elbow, and George smiled, a little half-smile, and said, “Oh right, you wouldn’t know, but Enjolras and Grantaire - well, the interpretation is that Grantaire was - or I guess,  _is_  - in love with Enjolras, who may or may not love him back, and I tried to bring a bit of that to the role, you know…well, I mean, no, you don’t know, you didn’t know—”

"I knew," Aaron interrupted, just the tips of his ears going red when George openly gaped at him, and he was quick to explain, "Look, I read all of Enjolras’s parts in the book, and that included all of the scenes with Grantaire, and…I mean, in the book, Enjolras is supposed to be aloof and unaware, which I wanted to show, sort of above all the romance, and I didn’t want to overly complicate the portrayal, plus Tom was really fixed on having Marius and Enjolras’s friendship be sort of central, so…but…I knew."

And then he smiled at George, a little hesitantly, and George smiled back, and then both turned to watch Enjolras’s clumsy attempts at returning Grantaire’s blatant flirting, surrounded by their friends and their characters, both smiling the same small, secretive smile, as if they knew something the others didn’t, both lost in their thoughts and memories as they stood there side-by-side, unconsciously mimicking their stances in their final scene with each other.


	34. Courfeyrac/Jehan - Picking Baby names

Courfeyrac huffed a loud sigh and laid his head down against the kitchen table, groaning loudly until Combeferre, who was sitting across the table from him, took pity on him, setting his medical textbook carefully down amidst the baby name books strewn all over the table, and asked lightly, “Is picking out potential baby names not going well?”

"It’s going dreadfully!" Courfeyrac wailed, his voice muffled from his face being pressed against the wood, waving his hands dramatically as Combeferre stifled a laugh, and Courf continued, "Jehan wants me to have my top three names picked out for a boy or a girl, but there’s just  _so many names_  and I want to find the perfect ones that Jehan will love, too, and that won’t torture the poor kid when grow up, and, oh, right, did I mention  _how many goddamn names there are_?!”

Combeferre hid a smile and, perhaps against his better judgment, agreed to help, and four hours, two-thirds of a bottle of rum (for Courfeyrac) and three beers (for Combeferre) later, they had compiled a fairly narrowed-down list - nowhere near the three boys’ names and three girls’ names - by the time Jehan came home, dropping a kiss on the top of Courfeyrac’s head and wrinkling his nose, saying, “Babe, you kind of smell like a distillery”, before leaning over his shoulder to pick the list off of the table, scanning it quickly and asking in almost disbelief, “ _These_  are the names you came up with - Ophelia, Juliet, Desdemona, Cordelia, Demetrius, Aaron, Chiron - Courf, these are all from Shakespeare.”

"I tried to convince him otherwise, but he just kept saying ‘respect the classics’," muttered Combeferre as he took his leave, ignoring the glare and muttered "Traitor" that Courfeyrac sent in his direction before pulling Jehan onto his lap and kissing him gently, lacing their fingers together as he explained, "I just…I wanted names that might mean something to you, to us, and for our first date you dragged…I mean, took me to see Shakespeare in the park, and I thought it might be nice to commemorate that, you know?"

Jehan smiled, kissed him, and told him gently, “Yes, but all of the characters you seem to have picked died really terrible deaths”, laughing at Courf’s stricken expression and kissing him again before saying, “I think what you wanted to do is super sweet, but there are, perhaps, better and  _simpler_  ways to commemorate milestones in our relationship than giving our children names after tragic characters in Shakespeare” (which was how, six months later, when their twins were born, one boy and one girl, they were named Henry - after  _Henry V_ , which was not the play they saw on their first date, but rather the play they saw just before deciding to start a family together - and Rose - because that was the flower that Courfeyrac brought Jehan on their first date, on their first anniversary, and the flower that Jehan carried down the aisle with him when they got married [and though neither Courfeyrac or Jehan woud admit it, a little bit because of  _Doctor Who_ ]). 


	35. Les Amis go to a music festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The full prompt was: "Les Amis going to a music festival where banjoes and flower crowns are necessary to get in through the gates. Bonus points if Courf can convince Enj to do something stupid i.e. crowd surf??" and, well, ask and ye shall receive.

 

"Enjolras," said Combeferre firmly, in that tone he used to break up arguments between Enjolras and Grantaire, to tell Courfeyrac to stop goofing off, to tell Bahorel to stop threatening to punch everyone within arm reach, that tone that bore no room for further argument, "everyone will be wearing them and you will be denied admittance without one, so  _put the damn flower crown on_.”

Enjolras opened his mouth as if to argue, but then just jerked a shrug and let Jehan set the flower crown into his curls, scowling until Grantaire pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth and whispered, “You look gorgeous, I promise,” to which Enjolras rolled his eyes but at least looked less like he was about to commit a homicide, something perhaps close to a smile twitching the corner of his lips, and then Grantaire laced his fingers with Enjolras’s and grabbed his banjo in his other hand and said, “Alright guys, if we want to get a good spot near the stage, we need to go.”

Whoever it was who had initially suggested that they go to the outdoor folk music festival had been collectively forgotten by the group - Courfeyrac privately suspected it was Marius, since this struck him as the kind of thing Cosette would really enjoy, but would never sell him out because he knew only too well what doom it could spell for Marius, who meant well (he remembered far too well the “Dress as your Favorite Historical Figure” party, when Marius dressed as Napoleon and Enjolras spent 57 minutes and 36 seconds straight yelling at him) - but they had all agreed to go, some more reluctantly than others, and only Enjolras had balked at the requirement stipulated by the concert organizers that everyone wear flower crowns, and now they entered the fairgrounds, Grantaire still holding Enjolras’s hand, Jehan perched up on Bahorel’s shoulders.

They arrived in time for the previous band’s final song, and the crowd was pretty wild, considering it was folk music, and Courfeyrac shared a whispered conversation with Feuilly, who grinned wickedly, and then both grabbed Enjolras, hoisting him in the air and sending him crowd-surfing, the eager concert-goers helping them along, even as Enjolras yelled profanities and threats (they then took one look at each other and quickly disappeared so as to not be there when Enjolras returned); as it was, crowd-surfing seemed to ignite something in Enjolras, and when he returned to the remnants of their group (Courf and Feuilly had still not made a reappearance), he grabbed Grantaire and pulled him in for a fierce kiss, saying excitedly, “I fucking crowd-surfed, Taire, and it was awesome and we should definitely do this more often!”

Grantaire laughed and teased, “You and me, do this kind of a thing more often - ha, be serious!” but Enjolras just kissed him until he was breathless and growled in Grantaire’s ear, “I am  _wild_ " (and when Feuilly and Courfeyrac finally slunk back to the group, Enjolras didn’t even give them shit…at least, not  _much_ ).


	36. Combeferre jealous (Unrequited Combeferre/Grantaire, E/R)

Combeferre was not jealous, because jealousy couldn’t begin to accurately sum the rush of emotions that he felt racing within his chest, the painful tightening as if a fist was squeezing his heart, the vice-like grip on his lungs that made it seemingly impossible to draw breath, and the dizzying sensation in the pit of his stomach as if it had fallen away completely; no, to call that jealousy was to give a name to the nameless, and as he watched Grantaire, perched on the edge of one of the tables in the Musain, laugh and touch Enjolras’s hand, he knew that jealousy was at once too vast and too narrow an emotion to possibly account for all he was feeling.

It was not jealousy that raged through his veins like a scorned lover as Enjolras cupped Grantaire cheek, their faces, their lips moving closer together as their murmurs grew softer, their touches gentler, until their lips touched.

It was not jealousy that made Combeferre squeeze the glass he was holding so tightly that it cracked, even though this was hardly the first time that Enjolras and Grantaire had kissed in front of him, just as it had not been jealousy any of the previous times he had witnessed Enjolras and Grantaire kiss, when Combeferre had actually shattered the glass he had been holding or splintered the table from his death grip or just plain walked out of the room they were in (as then, neither Enjolras nor Grantaire noticed Combeferre’s disconcertion now, too wrapped up in each other to see anything else, even that which was most plain, even that which their friends noticed, but tactfully kept to themselves).

It was not jealousy because Enjolras was Combeferre’s best friend, and Combeferre was so goddamned  _happy_  for him, and for Grantaire, no matter how watching them together wounded Combeferre more deeply than words could hope to ever describe, and friends were not jealous of their friends’ relationship, not when it was something both had wanted for so long (not when Grantaire’s eyes were full of light for the first time since Combeferre met him, not since he had never seen Grantaire smile so brightly or so frequently in all their years of knowing each other, not since Enjolras laughed more now, called meetings early on occasion because he wanted to spend more time with Grantaire, not since Enjolras had told him, in a hushed, almost reverent tone, “He just makes me so happy, Ferre”).

It was not jealousy, because Combeferre was not in love with Grantaire (or so he told himself every night as he lay in bed alone, thinking that if he said it often enough, it might actually be true).


	37. E/R - Meeting Enjolras's parents

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Slurs, Homophobia**

When Grantaire told Enjolras that he wanted to meet his parents, Enjolras had deflated so quickly Grantaire instantly asked him what was wrong, and Enjolras just looked down at his hands, a blush rising in his cheeks, and he stammered (sounding nothing like his usual, confident self), “I…it’s…my dad is…my dad’s kind of a giant homophobe, and he’s never come to terms with the fact that I’m gay, and he pretty much hates me, so…I mean, look, I want you to meet them, I want them to meet you, to understand how important you are to me, but…I just want you to be…to be ready, I guess.”

With Enjolras’s warning, Grantaire was careful when he introduced himself to Enjolras’s father, but he didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary at first, though he noticed Enjolras’s dad seemed to enjoy making rude jokes, typically at Enjolras’s expense - he openly joked about Enjolras’s long hair, calling him “girly” and asking if Enjolras still worked for that “faggy” organization, both comments making Enjolras visibly seethe and making Grantaire desperately wish he could grab Enjolras’s hand to comfort him - but it wasn’t until he asked to speak to Grantaire alone that problems arose; Grantaire reluctantly followed him into the study and gratefully accepted the offered glass of scotch, taking a swig from it as soon as it was in his hand, and then sat across from Enjolras’s father, who wasted no time in getting to the crux of the matter, stating pleasantly, “I hope you don’t find me rude in saying so, Grantaire, but the only reason you’re allowed in this house is because my wife insisted, thinking this  _indulgence_  might convince my son to stop with this homosexual nonsense, since he’s only doing it to lash out at us.”

The sip of scotch Grantaire had just taken was the only thing that stopped him from speaking, and he openly gaped at Enjolras’s father, who smiled grimly and said conversationally, “I don’t like people like you, who think you can just parade around with your  _abnormalities_  expecting society to accept you, but I will never accept you, society will never accept you, and once my son is over this childish rebellion of his, he will reject you for the gutter trash that you are, so don’t get comfortable with him.”

Grantaire was shaking, and there were so many words rushing through his head that he wanted to say, to shout, to scream at the smug, arrogant bastard of a man who sat fucking  _smiling_  at him as if he actually believed the words coming out of his mouth, but instead, Grantaire tossed the rest of his scotch back and stood, expression unreadable, and stalked out to find Enjolras, who was sitting in the living room with his mother, looking worried, and he stood as soon as he saw Grantaire, who marched up to him, grabbed him around the waist and pulled him flush against himself, kissing him roughly, ignoring the sharp gasp from Enjolras’s mother and the spluttered words of disbelief from Enjolras’s father, and when Grantaire pulled away, he laced his fingers with Enjolras and whirled around to face Enjolras’s father to tell him, “ _This_  is not an abnormality,  _sir_ , this is  _love_ , and if you can’t recognize that, you are going to lose your son forever.”

Then he left, pulling Enjolras behind him, not caring to see his parents’ reaction, not caring to spend another second in that hate-filled house, only wanting to get away, to get out of there, and then to hold Enjolras tighter than he ever had, because his beautiful, strong, amazingly brave boyfriend had managed to grow up in that environment and still turned out the way he was, and if nothing else in the world ever gave Grantaire hope in humanity, that in and of itself did, and when he had finally gotten them both out to the car, he turned to Enjolras, unwilling to look him in the eyes, and murmured, “I’m really sorry, I just—” but Enjolras cut him off by drawing him to him, by kissing him so intensely that Grantaire thought he might pull him off his feet, and then Enjolras rested his forehead against Grantaire’s, whispering, “Thank you, thank you, thank you” over and over until Grantaire stopped him by kissing him again.


	38. Combeferre jealous pt. 2 - Enjolras finds out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of [this prompt.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915986/chapters/1825929)

Enjolras was running late, a rarity in and of itself, and though he had confidence that Combeferre could keep things under control in his absence, Enjolras was still mentally cursing himself because really it was his fault that he was late, having spent too much time lounging on Grantaire’s couch, stealing kisses in lieu of watching the movie that they had put on, and one thing had led to another, and Enjolras was easily twenty minutes late for his meeting with Combeferre and Courfeyrac to discuss the latest developments on the situation in Egypt, and strategies to address them before their next Les Amis meeting.

When he arrived at the Musain, he was about to slip into the back room when he heard Combeferre’s raised voice; he was saying something in a frustrated tone to Courfeyrac, and perhaps against his better judgment, Enjolras lingered in the hall, listening as Combeferre half-shouted, “I  _know_  that, Courf, but it’s more complicated than just that.”

"What’s complicated about it?" Courfeyrac shot back, though his tone was a bit calmer than Combeferre’s, indicating he wasn’t personally involved in whatever it was that they were arguing about, which knowing Combeferre and Courfeyrac, could be any number of things ranging from political issues to philosophy to the latest episode of  _Real Housewives_  – Enjolras would never forget the time he walked in on  _that_  conversation – but then something in Courfeyrac’s voice softened, and he said gently, “I know that the situation is complicated, Ferre, but the truth is that you have to tell one of them about this sooner or later, because it’s not just going to go away, since you’ve been trying to make it go away, and it hasn’t, has it?”

Enjolras drew even closer to the door in order to be able to hear Combeferre’s quiet response as he muttered heatedly, “No, it hasn’t gotten better, though I wish it had, because how do I tell them, Courf, how do I tell my best friend that I’m in love with his boyfriend, that I’ve been in love with his boyfriend for a long time, longer than I’ve cared to admit it or to think about it, and that it breaks my heart every time I see the two of them together, or how do I tell Grantaire when I know that he’s happier than he’s ever been in his life, when I know that what I tell him will just hurt him?”

Though Combeferre kept talking, his voice hushed, Enjolras could not hear him over the pounding of his heart in his chest, over the strange ringing in his ears because he would not seem to breathe, could not seem to wrap his head around what he had just heard, because not only did Enjolras have no idea what he was supposed to do, what he was supposed to make of what he had just overheard, the knowledge that had just ripped apart his carefully constructed and very, very happy world, but he had no idea what in the hell he was supposed to do now, torn between his boyfriend – the man he had somehow fallen in love with against all odds, the man who he had only told “I love you” to five days prior, the man who was also the only person Enjolras had ever loved - and his best friend - the man who had stood by Enjolras’s side for years, had been his confidant, the only one who knew all of Enjolras’s secrets, but the one who had been unable to confide his biggest secret in Enjolras; and Enjolras, confronted with this problem for the first time in his entire life, had absolutely no idea how he was supposed to choose between them.


	39. Combeferre jealous pt. 3 - The Confrontation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for so many Combeferre/Grantaire ficlets in a row, by the way, but I wrote these for Combeferre/Grantaire week on Tumblr, so.
> 
> Picks up just after the [previous drabble.](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915986/chapters/1825939)

"I didn’t want you to find out," said Combeferre, a little desperately, infinitely glad for the table between himself and Enjolras, because the look on Enjolras’s face was one normally reserved for eviscerating the ruling class, and had never once been turned on Combeferre, who for the first time thought he might understand just why Grantaire had - lovingly and longingly, in a way that twisted Combeferre’s stomach every time he thought about it - given Enjolras the nickname Apollo, and Combeferre was forced to look away from him, to drop his eyes to the table and mutter, "It’s not a big deal and it doesn’t matter."

"You didn’t want me to  _find out_?” Enjolras repeated through clenched teeth, emotions flitting so quickly across his face that Combeferre couldn’t begin to keep up with them, and then Enjolras sighed, deeply, and looked down before saying in a low voice, “I have failed you if you thought you couldn’t talk to me about this, because if I had known…I would have done so many things different, Ferre, and I hope you know that, because the last thing I want is to have hurt you whatsoever.”

Combeferre closed his eyes and sighed, trying to vocalize the multitude of thoughts and feelings he had at this very moment, as well as throughout Enjolras and Grantaire’ burgeoning relationship, and he said quietly, “You haven’t hurt me, Enjolras, I promise you that, because none of this was your fault, and besides which, if I had come to you when this first started, when you first realized that you had feelings for Grantaire, what would you have done, not told him how you felt, not dated him, just because of feelings that I harbored and never acted on?”

Enjolras’s eyes flashed up to meet Combeferre’s, and he looked defiant as he told him, “I would have tried to do  _something_ , I would have let you work out what you needed to before doing anything, or I wouldn’t have approached Grantaire at all, because as much as I love Grantaire, you are my friend, and the thought of hurting you—”

Reaching out, almost hesitantly, Combeferre laid a gentle hand on Enjolras’s arm, his voice quiet as he stated, “But that’s just it, Enjolras: you love Grantaire, and I love Grantaire, but the fact of the matter is that Grantaire loves  _you_ , has  _always_  loved you, and there was nothing that I could do to change that, and anything that I could have said to you would have only made you pull back from him, which only would have hurt him, and knowing that would have hurt worse than the pain of watching you two together,” and he tightened his grip on Enjolras’s arm and said, voice as gentle as he could make it, “I would never want to hurt Grantaire, and I love him enough to know that there is nothing I can do; you don’t have to choose between us, Enjolras, because there is no choice - you love Grantaire, and Grantaire loves you, and I…I will be fine” (and as Enjolras pulled Combeferre into a hug, gripping him tightly, Combeferre knew that he had not lied, because he would be fine; he would have to be fine, because he loved - in very different ways - two incredible men who had fallen in love with each other, and Combeferre was not selfish, and would continue to be happy for them, no matter what it took). 


	40. Combeferre/Grantaire - Requited

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unrelated to the previous Combeferre/Grantaire prompts, obviously, since this one is requited.
> 
> Also longer than 5 sentences because I got lazy.

Combeferre had spent half his life as a substitute, or so it seemed. He started as a substitute teacher when the teaching position for which he had applied was eliminated due to budget cuts. He was the substitute friend, substitute drinking buddy, when no one else was available. When Enjolras was at a conference or something similar, Combeferre was a substitute leader of Les Amis.

And when Combeferre starting dating Grantaire, everyone thought Combeferre was a substitute for Enjolras (some days, when they’ve fought or when Grantaire was in a particularly foul mood, Combeferre privately thought the same thing, just for a brief moment, a brief tightening of a fist around his heart), but they were wrong (he was wrong).

Grantaire had loved Enjolras desperately, the skeptic adhering to the believer, wanting nothing more than to be burned by the little bit of Enjolras’s fire that he was privy to, wanting to drink all of Enjolras’s light the way he drank whiskey, but he couldn’t, and so he convinced himself that he deserved nothing more than the most meager scraps of Enjolras’s attention, convincing himself that he didn’t deserve real love, real warmth.

But then Combeferre happened, and just as Combeferre completed and corrected Enjolras in all aspects, he completed and corrected the piece of Enjolras that had been given to Grantaire. Enjolras’s harsh assessment of Grantaire was softened by Combeferre, frowns and glares turned to smiles and glances, and Grantaire found warmth that he could never have expected in the most unexpected place.

They fought, of course, but it wasn’t the kind of fighting that Grantaire was used to, the screaming kind he had with Enjolras where words were weapons designed to break each other. This was more like sparring, with blows that didn’t land, a testing of the other’s strength and willpower, an intellectual exercise.

Combeferre mentioned it one night, as they lay together, his hand stroking Grantaire’s dark curls. His voice was quiet and calm, something determined in his timbre. “I love you,” he said. “And I know you may never love me back, that I may never be more than a substitute—” the words ‘ _for Enjolras_ ' hung in the air, unspoken “—but I love you. And that's enough.”

Grantaire froze against him, trying to calm his suddenly rapidly beating heart, his arms tightening around Combeferre. He didn’t know what to say (he didn’t know how he felt).

Combeferre loved him, and maybe somewhere in the twisted mess of anger, disappointment and despising, Enjolras loved Grantaire too, but Combeferre loved Grantaire in the here, in the now, in the open way that didn’t need to hide behind caustic words and bitterness, in a way that sought to heal rather than wound, in a way that made Grantaire feel whole and happy and deserving.

Enjolras burned, but Grantaire no longer wanted to be burnt. Combeferre burned too, but it was a different kind of burning, a kind that made Grantaire want to smolder alongside him rather than be burned up in his embrace.

And even if Enjolras were to turn to him one day, to tell Grantaire the words he had always longed to here, it would never feel as real as this did.

So Grantaire leaned over and kissed Combeferre gently. “I love you, too,” he told him, sincerity ringing in his tone. “And to me, you are no substitute.”


	41. Ghost!Amis (E/R)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by a few different ghost prompts on Tumblr. Canon-era. Longer than 3-5 sentences because my laziness prevailed.

Enjolras stood in the clearing that had only recently been vacated by his parents and a few other relatives. The funeral had been a quiet affair, as befit the lie they had told to their family and friends, ashamed to the end of what Enjolras had done, had become.

He heard someone clear his throat behind him but made no move to turn around. “It was a lovely service,” said Combeferre conversationally, touching Enjolras’s shoulder gently, “and you couldn’t pick a more beautiful spot.”

It was true - Enjolras’s headstone was surrounded by flowers and bushes, in a secluded part of his parents’ gardens - but he just shrugged jerkily. “It’s a lie. The entire thing is a lie. My body shares the same paupers’ grave as yours, as everyone’s. My parents told their friends and the rest of the society members that I took ill. Not a word was said of the cause, of what I fought for, what I  _died_  for. Was it all for naught?”

"You know it wasn’t," said Combeferre.

Enjolras just sighed and shook his head slowly. “No one will remember,” he said quietly. “My own life has become a lie, and the truth will fade from memory more fleeting than the people’s passion. None will remember.”

A warm hand slipped into his and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire standing next to him, looking far more content than ever he had in life, as Combeferre squeezed his shoulder once more and walked away. “The people will remember, Enjolras,” Grantaire told him, his voice sure and steady, “maybe not by name, but the ideas for which you fought will live on, could never die, for it takes far more than bullets and cannons to kill ideas, and liberty does not easily surrender.”

"The people did not rise," said Enjolras, his voice sad, and almost a little unsure as he continued, "All our preparations, all of our efforts, and the people did not rise."

Grantaire squeezed his hand reassuringly. “But they will, and everything that you fought for, died for, believed in will come to pass.”

Enjolras smiled slightly. “How strange to hear these words from your lips, Grantaire, you who believed in nothing.”

"Not nothing," Grantaire corrected, also smiling, his crooked smile that he saved just for Enjolras. "I have always believed in you, which is why I say with full confidence that liberty will still be achieved."

Enjolras’s smile turned wistful. “But we won’t be here to see it.”

Grantaire cocked his head slightly. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that.” His hand tightened around Enjolras’s. “Now come; the others are waiting.”

Taking one last look at his tombstone, Enjolras turned to follow Grantaire, telling him in a soft voice, “I am glad to have you by my side, even now.”

"And here I shall remain," said Grantaire, voice equally quiet, "My place always will be right here by your side."

And together, hand-in-hand, they walked into eternity.


	42. E/R - Carnival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For JJ91. Based loosely on an episode of the O.C. Also longer because, oh right, still lazy.

"Fine, but I’m not going on any rides," said Enjolras instantly when told that in lieu of Les Amis’ normal Thursday night meeting, everyone was planning on going to the Kickoff Carnival for the new school year, taking advantage of the nice weather and the carnival rides, games and food.

When Enjolras had agreed to go, everyone had been excited, if a little surprised, though it was Grantaire that remarked loudly that he had been unaware Enjolras understood the concept of fun. This had spawned a round of fighting between the two of them that left even Combeferre, most immune to their fighting, cringing at the intensity, and when Enjolras showed up to the carnival, he pointedly ignored Grantaire, who rolled his eyes and went off in search of Montparnasse, calling over his shoulder that ‘Parnasse owed him a ride on the Ferris wheel.

Enjolras stared after him, arms crossed in front of his chest, and then turned to Combeferre, asking in a voice that sounded equal parts bewildered and attempting nonchalance, though with something small, almost hurt in it as well, “What did he mean by that? Is Grantaire…um…is Grantaire dating Montparnasse?”

Combeferre sighed, the weary sigh of someone who had been dealing with this same drama for longer than he cared to think about, and said, taking great care not to snap at Enjolras or roll his eyes (at least not that Enjolras could see), “I don’t know, Enjolras, since last I checked it was not my place to keep track of Grantaire’s personal life.” At the look on Enjolras’s face, Combeferre’s voice softened. “I will say that if a certain person perhaps had feelings for Grantaire, that person may want to consider stopping Grantaire before he does anything with Montparnasse, or else risk losing him.”

Enjolras looked at him, blinked, opened his mouth to speak, closed it without speaking, and nodded, just once, before taking off at a near sprint in the direction of the Ferris wheel, where he spotted Grantaire chatting with Montparnasse. Something tightened in Enjolras’s chest, something he had never quite felt before, or perhaps something that he been denying for longer than he cared to admit. When it came to his fellow Amis, Grantaire was the one with which he was most at odds, since the slacker often drank his way through classes and meetings, and when he did speak up, it was also something cynical and sardonic. They argued more often than not, but Enjolras had to admit –  _finally_ , his friends would all sigh when he later told this story – that somewhere between the arguing and the fights, the raised voices and the simmering anger, something tenuous had grown between them, and while their senior year was probably too late to do much of anything about it, Enjolras had to try.

And so he did what he had to do, cutting in front of Montparnasse and getting on the Ferris wheel with Grantaire, closing the lap bar before either man could stop him. Grantaire gaped at him for a moment before snapping, more astonishment than anger in his voice, “What the fuck are you doing, Enjolras?”

Taking a deep breath, Enjolras said quickly, “I, uh, I don’t know how to say this and – Jesus Christ, this thing goes really high up in the air—”

He gripped the lap bar so tightly that his knuckles turned white. “Are you afraid of heights?” asked Grantaire, sounding far too delighted at the idea, though Enjolras studiously ignored him. “That explains why you didn’t want to go on any rides, I suppose, though it only makes me ask, again, what the fuck are you doing here, Enjolras?”

"I just couldn’t let you go on this with Montparnasse,” Enjolras blurted, and Grantaire’s eyebrows shot up so far they almost disappeared into his dark curls.

“Couldn’t let me go on this with Montparnasse?” he repeated, frowning. “Ignoring the obvious implications of  _letting_  me do anything, why the fuck do you care what I do and with who?”

Enjolras had blushed scarlet, and as the seat they were in swayed slightly, he shut his eyes tightly. “I…I don’t want…I mean, you can do whatever you want, but I don’t want you to do anything with Montparnasse, with anyone, because…” Grantaire purposely caused the seat to sway more and Enjolras let out a little yelp before snapping, “Because I fucking like you, alright?”

There was silence, and he cracked one eye open to find Grantaire staring at him, open-mouthed, and quickly continued, “And I realize I’ve been a bit of an asshole, I know that, and, I mean, you have too, so there’s that, but I just…I couldn’t let you do something with Montparnasse without letting you know, without somehow trying, and—”

Grantaire cut him off, grabbing the front of Enjolras’s shirt to pull him into a fierce kiss, mouth opening against Enjolras’s, fingers curling in Enjolras’s hair and for a brief moment Enjolras just sat there, heart racing, unsure of what to do, but then he slipped his arms around Grantaire’s waist, deepening the kiss.

When the Ferris wheel had returned the bottom for them to get off, Enjolras fished a five-dollar bill out of his pocket and handed it to the ride operator, telling him breathlessly, “We’re going to go around again,” before leaning in to kiss Grantaire again.

Laughing lightly against Enjolras’s lips, Grantaire said with a wide smile, “I thought you were afraid of heights.”

“Oh, I am,” Enjolras said, biting down gently on Grantaire’s lower lip. “So you’re going to have to continue to keep me distracted.”

Grantaire’s grin softened and he kissed Enjolras again. “I think I can manage that.” And he did, keeping Enjolras busy for two more times around, until the ride operator finally kicked them off (but then he kept him occupied on the tilt-a-whirl, and in the Gravitron, and even on the flying carpet ride, which went up even higher in the air than the Ferris wheel, though Enjolras never even noticed).


	43. E/R - Long-distance relationship

The familiar sounds of Skype starting up somehow seemed to make Enjolras’s heart beat even faster, and he bit his lip with equal parts anticipation and something approaching nerves, because it had been almost two weeks since he had last seen Grantaire, two weeks since he had looked into his eyes, two weeks since hearing his voice, two weeks since he had kissed him goodbye and watched him walk through security on his way to the plane that would carry him across the Atlantic to Rome, where he was spending the summer studying classical art, and while Enjolras was thrilled for Grantaire, for the opportunities that this presented to him, he missed him more than he thought was even possible, like a hollow pain within his chest every time he rolled over in the middle of the night to find Grantaire’s side of the bed empty, every time he looked up from his book expecting to see Grantaire sitting beside him, every time he walked home the Musain and unconsciously reaching for Grantaire’s hand (only to have it close on empty air).

So when Grantaire’s beaming face swam into view, Enjolras let out a breath he hadn’t known he had been holding, the first genuine smile he had smiled in two weeks breaking out across his face, and his voice was full of giddy excitement as he breathed, “Hey you, how’s it going in Rome?”

Grantaire’s face lit up and he grinned widely, instantly launching into a description of everything that he had seen and done the last several days in Rome, and Enjolras settled back in his seat, the smile on his face softening as he listened, loving how thrilled Grantaire sound, the excitement in Grantaire’s voice as he gestured wildly, telling Enjolras some story about almost being run over by a Vespa, but it also hurt Enjolras on some absurd level, because Grantaire was off having an amazing adventure and so much fun, and Enjolras was ecstatic about that, truly, but he was doing all of this without Enjolras, happy and having fun without Enjolras, whereas Enjolras himself felt like he was floundering without Grantaire at his side; he was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn’t even notice he had completely tuned Grantaire out until Grantaire cleared his throat and asked wryly, “Am I boring you?”

“No, of course not,” said Enjolras quickly, flushing slightly, and he gnawed at his bottom lip, reaching out almost without thinking as if to trace Grantaire’s features through the computer screen, his fingertips stopping just inches from the screen and hand dropping to his side, and almost against his better judgment, he said softly, something a little desperate creeping into his voice, “I just…I miss you.”

Grantaire reached out as well, his fingers splayed across the screen, and he said quietly, “I miss you, too, because it’s not the same without you here – I mean, it’s still amazing here, because it’s fucking  _Rome_ , but it would be a million times better with you here, and I promise you I’m counting down every hour of every day until I’m home by your side, because I love you, ok?” (and after Enjolras whispered, “I love you, too” back to him, they spent a moment in comfortable silence before Grantaire asked, voice pitched low, “So, uh, are we gonna jack off together or something, because, I mean, it’s been awhile, and I have needs…” and neither man could contain their laughter after that).


	44. Joly/Musichetta/Bossuet - Break-up

They had been together for so long that people forgot they were individuals instead of the singular unit of Joly-Musichetta-Bossuet, never one without the other, or so it seemed at least, as they lived together, studied together, and most importantly, loved together, loved each other, wholly and completely – again, or so it seemed, for, to an outside viewer, their little lives wrapped up so tightly in one another that one could not tell where one ended and the other began gave the appearance of perfection, of love without compare, of love with complete abandon, of a love that could never be ended.

Which was why it was hard for everyone involved when it unraveled, as these things sometimes do, for no matter how perfect the relationship may seem to the outside world, to the individuals living it, sometimes it becomes such a tedious iie to try and maintain for someone else’s benefit, since it definitely is not for your own.

And so late one evening Musichetta and Bossuet sat down at the dining room table across from Joly, the table where they had shared some of their best meals, their best memories, and their best laughs, and they told him what he had known for weeks now, it seemed, even if he had been trying so desperately to lie to himself that the inevitable was not coming, even though it was coming, just as it always did for Joly, who, though cheerful and loving, always seemed to be on this side of this conversation; Bossuet and Musichetta held hands under the table – as if Joly somehow wouldn’t be able to see them – and told him, gently, not trying to hurt, just trying to explain, that they were still in love with each other, they just…weren’t in love with him anymore, that they had tried, but it was just not going to work out, and Joly nodded, dry-eyed, and told them he’d pack and try and be out of the apartment as soon as possible.

The worst part was that Joly understood, he really truly did, because living with someone like him was not easy, not when all he seemed to do was fret over Bossuet’s every stubbed toe (and since Bossuet had a proclivity toward a variety of minor injuries, the least of which were stubbed toes), or spend the rest of his time obsessing over whether his recent cough could be attributed to something far worse than the common cold, so that even Musichetta’s soothing hand stroking his hair could not calm him, and he understood that more than anyone, knew that it would drive anyone crazy, knew that Musichetta and Bossuet were saints for putting up with him as long as they did, but that didn’t mean that it didn’t completely break him, knowing that once again it was him who had done it, who had driven them apart, who hadn’t been and could never be enough.

And even though, in that small part of his brain that was perhaps wired correctly or just wasn’t as screwed up as the rest of him, he knew that he had none of the symptoms beyond the dull ache in his chest that couldn’t be attributed to physical causes, he left the WebMD article on broken heart syndrome open in a tab on his laptop for reference, just in case.


	45. E/R - Pining!Jolras

Enjolras sighed, deeply, for the fourth time in half an hour and Combeferre pinched the bridge of his nose, frowning at Enjolras, who was sitting, chin propped on his hand, staring down at the newspaper he was supposed to be reading, though his eyes were still glued on the same paragraph, and were more glassy than engaged, his fingers drumming idly against the table, his coffee sitting untouched in front of him, and when he heaved yet another sigh, Combeferre snapped his book shut and set down on the table with perhaps a bit more force than was entirely necessary and asked, trying to keep his voice from sounding curt, “Is there something wrong?”

Looking briefly startled, Enjolras flushed almost scarlet and hastily picked up his coffee and drained it, all without meeting Combeferre’s eyes, and, after making a face at the taste of his now-room temperature coffee, he spluttered, “I have no idea what you’re talking about”, though immediately after saying that, he glanced down at his cell phone, sitting on the table in front of him, with a look that could only be called purely longing, akin to a miserable puppy, flitting across his face, and Combeferre sighed, rolled his eyes, and grabbed Enjolras’s cell phone, ignoring the way Enjolras yelped, “Hey, give that back!”

Combeferre ignored Enjolras’s half-hearted attempts to grab it back and clicked on the phone, frowning slightly when a string of text messages with Grantaire popped up, but then he glanced up at the look on Enjolras’s face - equal parts panic, defiance, worry and sadness - and suddenly understood, his own expression softening as he slid the phone back across the table to Enjolras, commanding him quietly, “Call him,” and at Enjolras’s raised eyebrow, he elaborated, “I know you haven’t seen Grantaire in a few days because he went with Jehan to visit Jehan’s family, but you should call him, talk to him.”

“I don’t—” Enjolras started, blushing even deeper than he previously had as he began again, “Grantaire and I, we…I…it’s not like that…he – he doesn’t even…”

Combeferre leaned forward and said, voice low, “Trust me, he does, he really does, and we’ve all known it – well, everyone besides you, apparently – and you should just…call him, alright?” and Enjolras bit his lip and nodded, grabbing his cell phone and heading outside of the café as Combeferre watched, eyebrow arched, and when he saw Enjolras break into a giant smile through the window of the café, he smiled as well, a smaller smile, and picked his book back up, the smile still lingering on his lips, for everything was in his world was right again.  


	46. E/R - Enjolras finds Grantaire self-harming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: Self-harm**
> 
> High school AU

To say that Grantaire cut himself because of Enjolras would be a mistake at best and a lie at worst, because Grantaire did not cut himself because of any one person, for any one reason, but to give physical representation for the pain that threatened to burst from within his chest, that threatened to tear himself apart permanently, to drive himself so far to the brink of despair that nothing in the world, the least of which being the thought of Enjolras, could pull Grantaire back again, and so Grantaire turned, time and time again, to the feeling of a blade on his skin, in his skin, to escaping from the world for just those solitary moments, lost in the pain that for once was clean and consistent instead of fragmented and as broken as he was.

Until one day, when Grantaire had fallen just far enough to need to physically claw and scratch his way back up, when he had retreated into his bedroom, perched on the edge of his bed, razor blade in hand, pressed against one of the many scars that already dotted his arms, normally hidden by the long-sleeved shirts and hoodies he favored, a knock sounded as his bedroom door, almost tentatively, and Grantaire froze, blade just touching his skin, and said, voice higher pitched than normal, assuming it was his mom or one of her asshole boyfriends, “Go away!”  

There a brief pause, and then a voice,  _that_  voice, the voice that could simultaneously sustain Grantaire through his darkest times while also sending Grantaire spiraling into the darkest places, called, “Grantaire, it’s Enjolras – Courf said you left your AP Government notebook in class, and I figured I’d bring it to you since your place is on my way home, and—”  and Enjolras had pushed the door open before Grantaire could stop him, and thus walked into the room to find Grantaire staring up at him, a mix of horror, shame, and flat-out defiance written starkly across his face, razor blade still pressed against his skin.

“Enjolras,” Grantaire said, voice trembling slightly as he tried to find something to say, some explanation for what was going on besides the completely obvious explanation, and he licked his lips and tried half-heartedly, “I…this…it’s not…” but Enjolras just crossed his room in three easy strides and sat down next to him on the bed, far enough away that they weren’t touching, but close enough that Grantaire could feel the heat radiating off of his body, and he turned to face Grantaire, silently giving him permission to keep talking.

He didn’t touch him, didn’t hold him, did not say a single word, just sat there, next to him, while Grantaire cried and babbled and tried to explain; Enjolras didn’t try to offer comfort, which, whether or not he knew that this was the absolute best thing he could have done, that any attempts to try and comfort Grantaire right now would have backfired, nonetheless still worked, as his very presence, even if he was as stone-like as Grantaire had always jokingly called him, was the best thing for Grantaire in that moment, someone to finally sit there and listen as everything that had been wrapped up for so long inside of himself finally,  _finally_  spilled forth (and when Grantaire was done, finally quiet, chest heaving and eyes still wet from crying, Enjolras turned to him, expressionless, and gently took the razor blade from Grantaire’s hand, and told him, in a quiet, commanding voice – though it was shaking, slightly, in a way that made Grantaire’s fingers clutch against the sheets of his bed to stop from reaching out for him – “No more, Taire”, and then, even softer, and almost questioningly, “I’ll see you tomorrow”, and when Grantaire nodded, he left, closing the door behind him, and Grantaire lay back against his bed, feeling at once relieved and disappointed, but for the first time in a very long time, without feeling like he want to cut).


	47. E/R - Age Difference (part 2)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuation of sorts of [this drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/915986/chapters/1806933). Takes place during their high school years.

Someone shoved Enjolras against the lockers, causing him to drop all of the books he was carrying, and hissed at him, “Freak,” laughing at him as he quickly scrambled to pick the books up again, his face flaming; it was only his third week of high school and once again, Enjolras had already been labeled a freak by the other students, which was perhaps only fair, since Enjolras was only twelve years old and scrawny, even for his age (his growth spurt was a few years off still, by which time he would be so thoroughly labeled a freak that none of his classmates would even notice that the ‘little kid’ they had tormented was now anything but), and the abuse from the upperclassmen, though expected, was starting to wear on his nerves.

As more students joined in the tittering laughter, a low voice cut across the crowd, saying, “Leave him alone,” and Enjolras looked up, surprised to see Grantaire across the way, standing in front of his locker (the same locker, Enjolras realized with a sort of painful feeling in his chest, that he had seen the word ‘fag’ scrawled across not even a week ago), and while all this did was mostly turn the laughter away from Enjolras and on to Grantaire, who just looked at everyone with a tired, bored expression on his face, it gave Enjolras enough time to gather his things and stand, almost cautiously, raising his eyes to meet Grantaire’s.

For a second Enjolras and Grantaire just stared at each other, and Enjolras thought, wondered, even briefly hoped for just a moment that maybe things could go back to the way they were before, those days he remembered so fondly, even if they were a long time past, because Grantaire was his best friend back then, and Enjolras back then had been young enough to believe that nothing could change that, and was young enough now to still hope, to still wish that that were true, but then Grantaire looked away, the moment broken, and slammed his locker shut before slumping away down the hallway, not looking back at Enjolras, who just stared after him.

When Grantaire passed by a group of girls, they giggled, looking over at him and fake-whispering, “Loser!”, laughing at the way his thin shoulders tensed under his black hoodie, and Enjolras, still standing against the lockers, books still clutched against his chest, felt torn between running after him and just plain running away, and a small part of him wondered just how much of this kind of torment Grantaire had had to go through to get to the point where he was (and Enjolras wondered, for just a brief moment, what it must have been like for him, but then another older student shouldered into Enjolras, causing him to drop all of his books yet again, and Enjolras thought bitterly that he knew exactly what it must have been like).

Of course, later on in the cafeteria, when he was relaying his morning to Combeferre and Courfeyrac, joined by Joly, who had biology with Ferre, and Jehan, who was in English with Courf, when Enjolras happened to see Grantaire, alone at a table in the corner of the cafeteria, sipping from a hip flask when the lunch room monitor was looking the other way, when Enjolras was being comforted by his friends, who surrounded him and supported him and were just plain there for him, Enjolras realized he had no idea what it must have been like for Grantaire, and his heart twisted painfully once again.


	48. E/R - Grantaire has a bad day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **TW: drug addiction, depression**

It was just one of those days, which was exactly what he told Enjolras when Enjolras poked his head into the bedroom before heading off to work, finding Grantaire in the same exact position he had been in an hour and a half earlier when Enjolras got up and asking him if he was alright – a half-shrug, not rolling over to face the door but staring resolutely at the wall, and saying in a soft, quiet, defeated voice, “It’s just one of those days”, before adding, just so as to not worry Enjolras, “I’ll be fine.”

But it was one of those days when fine was a relative concept, and while it was enough to make Enjolras shrug, still looking concerned, and leave, it was not enough to get Grantaire out of bed, so that when Enjolras came home from work it was to find Grantaire in the same exact position, and so he leaned against the doorframe and told Grantaire, trying not to let frustration or worry color his voice, “There’s a meeting tonight, and you don’t have to come if you don’t feel up to it, but I have to be there…”

It was just enough to rouse Grantaire from his bed, to motivate him to throw the same pair of jeans and the same t-shirt he had worn yesterday on, though he pulled a beanie over his hair in lieu of trying to tame his curls, but it was not enough for him to do anything other than jam his hands deep into his pockets and shuffle after Enjolras, and when Enjolras reached for Grantaire’s hand, he didn’t take them out of his pockets, ignoring the look of hurt and confusion that flashed across Enjolras’s face as his own hand dropped to his side, closing only on air.

When they arrived at the Musain, Grantaire slid onto a chair in the back of the room, waving Enjolras off when he hesitated at Grantaire’s side (Enjolras had work to do and Grantaire would not have his mood rub off on Enjolras – not considering the fact that it already may have, that Enjolras spent most of his day worrying about Grantaire instead of working, that even now he was thinking bringing Grantaire here was a mistake, that he should just have cancelled the meeting and curled up in bed next to him), and then Jehan perched in the chair next to him, giving him a concerned look, and asked him, “Hey, is everything alright with you?” and for a brief moment Grantaire contemplated telling Jehan exactly how he was feeling, how he had spent his entire day curled up in the fetal position as if curling in on himself would keep everything squashed inside instead of spilling over, how he had to physically stop himself from getting up off of his bed and going in search of the closest drug dealer or going into the medicine cabinet in search of a handful of pills, how today was one of those days that just didn’t feel like it was worth living (like he wasn’t worth it).

And since he couldn’t do that, couldn’t put into words how much he wanted nothing more than the cold sting of a needle sliding into his arm and the instant euphoria, the instant forgetfulness, the instant bliss that accompanied it, how much he wanted to chase the high for days on end and just leave everything behind – yes, everything, even Enjolras, because even Enjolras could not compare to the itch that he felt under his skin, the itch that could only ever be satisfied at the bottom of a dime bag – how much he wanted emptiness and a void and to just forget who he was and how much it sucked to be him (on occasion at least, and when Grantaire was in a mood like this, it was impossible for him to remember how amazing it was sometimes to be him), but since he couldn’t put that into words, he smiled a fake smile, and told Jehan, and everyone who asked that night, “I’m fine” and “It’s just one of those days.”


	49. E/R - Enjolras gets his romance advice from RomComs

When Enjolras told Courfeyrac, while gnawing on his lip and looking partially ashamed and partially worried but also as excited as a small child, that he thought he might have feelings for Grantaire but had no idea what to do about it, Courfeyrac just stared at him blankly for a few seconds before cracking up, telling him in between cackling, “God, you two - you’re worse than a fucking romantic comedy, I swear to God,” which wasn’t really the advice that Enjolras had been looking for, until he went onto Netflix, typed in romantic comedies (all of the recommended movies for him were mostly documentaries and political thrillers, neither of which fit the bill), and settled down to do research.

What he learned was that the way to properly declare his feelings for Grantaire would be in some kind of grand gesture, something that would literally sweep him off his feet and make him completely and fully aware of just how strong Enjolras’s feelings were, so Enjolras did what he did best: planned and enlisted as many of his friends to help as he could without risking Grantaire finding out what he was planning, and finally their preparations were ready.

This was how Enjolras found himself standing on top of the sculpture directly outside of the art building on campus, where Grantaire’s studio art class was located, and when everyone streamed outside at the end of the hour, Enjolras stood up to his full height, clutching the edge of the sculpture and bellowing, “Grantaire!”, pausing for a brief second when Grantaire looked up at him, mouth dropping open, before barreling on, “I didn’t how else to tell you, but I – I like you, a lot, and I think you like me, so I’m not going to come down until you tell me you like me back.”

Grantaire looked equal parts horrified, embarrassed, and also giddy, staring up at him as he shouted back, “Enjolras, you complete asshole, get the fuck down from there, what the  _hell_  do you think you’re doing?” but when Enjolras just shook his head stubbornly, Grantaire audibly sighed and snapped, “Yes of course I like you, you fucking moron, now would you get the fuck down from there before you fall down and kill yourself?”

"I am going to kiss you," pronounced Enjolras grandly,  but then he glanced around and looked a little nervous, and added, “just as soon as I figure out how to get down” (and in the end they had to call Feuilly to get him to bring his ladder over so Enjolras could climb down, all while Grantaire was torn between being sympathetic and laughing his ass off – because seriously, Enjolras had climbed up there, so why the fuck couldn’t he get back down – and the school’s administrators even came to see what was going on as Enjolras hastily pledged that for once this had nothing to do with protesting their tyrannical policies, but in the end Enjolras made it down and once he did, he pulled Grantaire to him and kissed him, sweetly and fully and to the thunderous applause of their friends and bystanders, and then Grantaire whispered, “You’re a fucking sap, did you know that, you could have had me at any time if you had just used your fucking words, you stupid fucking idiot,” and Enjolras just smiled and shrugged, because maybe he was, but hey, it was worth it).


	50. Combeferre loses his temper

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight E/R. Potentially slight Combeferre/Grantaire, depending on how you wanted to read it.

“It’s weakness,” Enjolras exploded, slamming his notebook down on the table in the Musain, his voice strained, color high in his cheeks as he paced restlessly in front of the table where Courfeyrac and Combeferre sat, alternately watching him warily – for Enjolras when in a mood like this was unpredictable at best and downright murderous at worst – and exchanging glances with each other, wondering who was going to step in and say something, cut him off at the pass before he could get too wound up in his rant du jour, as Enjolras continued, his voice sounding even more frustrated, “it’s weakness and it’s lazy and it’s going to bring us down in the long run if we continue tolerating this type of behavior, because Grantaire seems to get off on being drunk and disruptive and we have actual work that we need to do, real work, and if he keeps going the way that he’s going—”’

Combeferre looked over at Courfeyrac, who just half-shrugged, though he looked unhappy, and Combeferre sighed and interrupted Enjolras softly, saying, “Enjolras, that’s enough,” but Enjolras barreled forward, ignoring Combeferre.

Enjolras continued his rant as if Combeferre had never spoken, stating, “He’s going to get himself killed at this point, whether from the booze or from whatever else he’s on and it just amazes me because he could do so much, he could be so much, but no, he’s too lazy and too worthless to even see that, and I’ve tried to be patient, really I have, but they’re going to find him one day with a needle in his arm and I’m not even going to be surprised or saddened because he’s done this to himself, he’s brought this on himself, and—”

“I said that’s enough!” Combeferre burst suddenly, standing up, his palms slamming against the table so loudly that Enjolras visibly started, gaping at him wide-eyed, and after a deep breath to try and calm himself, Combeferre continued, voice sharp, “You have no right to talk about  _anyone_  the way that you’re going on about Grantaire, who is smarter and better by far than you give him credit for, as if he somehow needs your validation, as if anyone needs your stamp of approval just for existing, because it seems like you’ve forgotten in the middle of your ranting that the people you’re supposed to be fighting for are people like Grantaire, who have been handed a hard deal by life, and instead of your judgment, he and everyone you claim to fight for deserve your sympathy and for you to fight all the harder for their sake, even if and especially if they’re unable to fight for themselves.”

With that said, he grabbed his stuff and swept away, leaving both Enjolras and Courfeyrac staring after him as he left, neither sure of what to say to him, and when Enjolras looked at Courfeyrac, Courf just shrugged and said, almost calmly, “It’s yours to deal with, not mine, but if I were you – and thank God I’m not – I’d go after him and try to talk to him, because I’m sure there’s something more going on than just that” (and Enjolras did, eventually, because Combeferre was more than just his best friend, was the true definition of platonic life partner, who not only completed him but corrected him, softening his harshness and helping him in every way, and Enjolras owed him so much more than just an apology, but first, Enjolras had more important business to take care of, in the form of a phone call to Grantaire, asking him in a soft voice, “Are you free right now, because we need to talk” because they did, because Enjolras had some apologies to make, but more importantly, had some listening to do before he presumed to speak for Grantaire again, to even speak about Grantaire again, which was maybe the point that Combeferre had been making in the first place).


	51. E/R - Enjolras tries to ask Grantaire out (sort of)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Canon-era!
> 
> Why?
> 
> Why the hell not!

Enjolras cleared his throat, hoping fervently that his cheeks were not more colored than usual, having purposely loosened his cravat early in the evening to let his blood flow freely, to give it room to not get caught up in his cheeks the way he feared it would, and his hand fluttered uselessly around his waistcoat, unsure of where to land until he smoothed it against the fabric, brushing the stiff brocade as if forcing it to lay even flatter than it already was, and when time failed him, when he had run out of minute movements to stall the conversation he was about to have, he cleared his throat again and asked seriously, “Citizen, may I join you here tonight?”

Grantaire looked up from where he had been studiously examining the bottle before him, his eyes bloodshot and red-rimmed, mouth open in a slight “O” of surprise, and after a brief moment’s hesitation – a brief moment of trying to determine if the godling before him and the words he had just heard issue from said godling’s mouth were actual truth – he nodded and said hoarsely, “Would you deign to join us mortals, I would not rebuff you, not now or ever.”

Enjolras sat down next to him, continuing to hope that his cheeks were colored a normal hue, as he could not even blame their color on wine or absinthe as Grantaire could, and instead, he worked on picking his words in as concise and clear a manner as he dared, stating quietly, “Citizen Grantaire, I wished to thank you for your words and opinions this evening, as the viewpoint you have shared is, as ever, one of great interest and a suitable counterpoint to our goals, the perfect opposition for us to test ourselves against, and it is this point that I wish to address, because truly I think you sell yourself short, comrade; the cause could have great use of you when instead you keep to your cups and waste you potential in alcohol, when you could be a great man, could soar among the best of us, and I worry that you poison yourself, poison our cause by not giving your full self, by wasting yourself the way that you do, because you could be so much more than you are, Grantaire, truly, if only you were to try.”

Something darkened on Grantaire’s face and he looked away, his grip on the bottle tightening, and he took the final swig from the bottle before setting it on the table, none to gently, and saying, his voice rough and harsh, “I apologize that my mere existence appears to have offended, O Apollo, but I’ll not linger here and let my presence poison you further”, and with that he rose, made a mocking half-bow to Enjolras, and strode off.

Staring after him, Enjolras’s face was blank, as blank as Grantaire’s had been when Enjolras had asked permission to join him, and after a long moment, something very close to hurt flashed across his face, rapidly replaced by confusion, and then by a quiet determination, because Grantaire had misinterpreted his words, what he had been aiming for, and Enjolras had never before failed so spectacularly when making a speech and would hardly start now, even if it took him a thousand attempts to actually formulate words into the order that he desired, to convey the message that he sought, the message of how much Grantaire meant to him, how much he looked forward to every time Grantaire would contradict him, because Grantaire was good and was smart and knew more than anyone the weaknesses in Enjolras’s arguments, which only served to make Enjolras better, and so Enjolras resolved to do what he could to rectify what he had just done (though of course, his time was cut short, his thousand attempts only able to number in the single digits, and when all was said and done, he said more in a small smile and in taking Grantaire’s hand at the end of all things than he could have in a thousand and one attempts).


	52. E/R go to Disney World

When Enjolras found out that Grantaire had never been to either Disney World or Disneyland, he stared at him open-mouthed (because Disney was one of their shared guilty pleasures, one of the few things that Grantaire was undoubtedly passionate about, to the point where Grantaire even had a Disney-inspired tattoo) for so long that Grantaire flushed and said defensively, “What, not all of us had parents with vacation homes in Malibu, ok?” at which Enjolras rolled his eyes, because that was _not_ the point, the point was that he knew he had to take Grantaire there, and sooner rather than later.

So he put a request in for a week off from work and booked a vacation for the two of them at Disney World, and though Grantaire rolled his eyes and said it was unnecessary, there was something that glinted in his eyes, something that Enjolras had rarely glimpsed, and when they finally arrived, when they stood in front of the gates for the Magic Kingdom, Grantaire turned to him, pure excitement on his face, and told him, a little breathlessly, “I just want you to know that this…this is a dream come true for me, and—”

Enjolras cut him off by kissing him, and then laced their fingers together and tugged him inside; once they were in, Grantaire was like a kid again, unable to decide where he wanted to go first, dragging him first one direction, then another, insisting they get their picture taken in front of Cinderella’s castle, and then making him ride every single ride with him (they did It’s A Small World and Dumbo twice, Space Mountain and Splash Mountain thrice, and Grantaire even let Enjolras take him into the Hall of Presidents and the Carousel of Progress, even though Enjolras had refused to let them watch the Country Bear Jamboree twice).

It was one if the best days that they had shared together, but when they were leaving, hand-hand, Grantaire slowed, almost as if he was dragging his feet, something very close to sadness crossing his face, and Enjolras stopped, concerned, and asked, “What’s wrong?” and when Grantaire just shook his head wordlessly, still looking inexplicably crestfallen, Enjolras repeated, more urgently than before, “Taire, what’s wrong?”

Grantaire bit his lip and looked a little embarrassed, and he said softly, “It’s nothing, it’s just, I was hoping…” but then he caught sight of something over Enjolras’s shoulder and his entire face lit up, grinning like a bit of an idiot, and he stepped past Enjolras, almost a little shyly, and Enjolras turned to see Grantaire approach Mickey Mouse, who gave him a big hug, and nothing Enjolras had ever seen could compare to that moment, to watching what appeared like a childhood dream come true for Grantaire, and though when Grantaire returned to his side he muttered threateningly, “Tell anyone about this…” he was still grinning with happiness, so Enjolras just put an arm around his shoulders, pulled him to his side, and pressed a kiss to his temple, promising not to, because this was a moment just between the two of them.


	53. E/R seeing each other again after 10 years

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vaguely NSFW. Ish.

One would have thought that not a moment had gone by since they were apart; the heat between them positively sizzled and they stared at each other across the room, blue eyes meeting blue, both sets cool and assessing (neither showing the sudden longing that curled within their respective chests, the sudden resurgence of pain that they had locked away for all these long years - one more successfully than the other, and it might surprise you which - and the instant but unrecognizable leap of each of their hearts in what could only be described as hope), and with a silent conversation they were still adept at, even all these years later, they both left the room, heading towards each other, meeting without words, with simply hands pressed together, fingers just touching, until they could find a quiet room, thankfully with a lock on the door.

Then it was really as if time had not passed, for in no time at all their shirts were both off, the buttons from Enjolras’s scattered across the floor (even now Grantaire was still overeager, always craving the fire which had only ended up burning him in the end), and Grantaire’s leg was hitched around Enjolras’s hips as they rocked into each other, rutting against each other like teenagers as their hands and mouths explored achingly familiar planes, tracing still remembered paths, testing whether the places that had once brought that certain sharp inhale still did so, seeking whether biting down on that spot of skin would still illicit the other’s name moaned in a quiet huff (it did - it always would, which had caused more than its fair share of problems over the years from partners who didn’t enjoy being called someone else’s name), and most importantly, tasting each other’s mouths for the same sweet taste they had each missed.

It was exactly the same as it had always been, but it was also immeasurably different: Enjolras’s hair was shorter now, though still long enough for Grantaire to grab a fistful, even if the hair he grabbed had a hint of silver glinting in with the gold now; Grantaire’s own hair still hung in its trademark curls, but they were fully salt-and-pepper; there were lines that creased both their faces, testaments to the last ten years that they had lived apart, lived without each other, stories that begged to be told, secrets that pleaded to be kept; Grantaire’s fingers brushing against Enjolras’s cheekbone were softer now, the calluses from his paintbrushes smoothed with age and with disuse (a story for another day), where Enjolras’s were rougher, rough with work and long nights, and pens and pencils constantly gripped between them as he battled all the injustices of the world from his desk in an office building that Grantaire had never seen, save for imagining in his head; their bodies were minutely and also obviously different now, pudgy in places that had previously been smooth and sculpted, angles and muscles softened by time, but the way they held each other had not changed, the passion between them still threatened to combust with the sheer heat.

And it did not take long at all for both of them to reach their release, though both looked slightly embarrassed as having it happen so fast, so fast that neither of them had taken their pants off, and though Grantaire wanted to make a crack about that not happening since he was a teenager, he didn’t upon seeing the look in Enjolras’s eye, the impossible softness there as he dropped his head against Grantaire’s shoulder, whispering, “I missed you,” his lips moving against Grantaire’s neck, his chest still heaving, one hand bracing him against the wall, as the other had circled Grantaire’s waist to keep him upright.

It wasn’t an apology, and it didn’t make up for the ten years that had passed, the ten years since they had lost each other, the ten years of longing and wanting and forgiving and learning and trying to move on, but it was a start, and as Grantaire untangled his fingers from Enjolras’s hair, he thought it might be enough, enough of a start to maybe, just maybe, think of moving forward together (again), and so he tilted Enjolras’s chin up with his finger and kissed him gently, whispering, “I know, I missed you, too.”


	54. Joly/Bossuet(/Musichetta) - Road to El Dorado AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since I recently discovered a spate of 3-5 sentence fics that have somehow not made their way onto here, I figured I may as well revive this fic compilation rather than put them in a new one.
> 
> Also since it's been awhile, I'll slap my usual disclaimer on here in that I own absolutely nothing.

"This could be our destiny, our fate!" Bossuet insisted under his breath, grinning at Joly, who did not look nearly as convinced, and Bossuet added, "Come on, Jolllly, this is the greatest idea of all time!"

"This is the absolute  _worst_  idea of all time,” Joly hissed, glancing from Bossuet to the surrounding crowd of Aztecs, who were convinced that they were somehow Gods instead of just two idiots who had gotten horrendously lost on their way back to France, and he told Bossuet with an edge to his voice, “Don’t tell me that this is fate when this all happened because we were using loaded dice because  _your_  luck is so bad.”

Bossuet just shrugged, because he really couldn’t argue when it came to his luck, but he still insisted, “It’ll be easy, trust me; we pretend to be gods, we steal their gold, we go our merry way — I mean, they’re probably about to give us some kind of gift or something”, and sure enough, one of the high priests gestured to a beautiful dark-haired girl he called ‘Musichetta’, who grinned flirtatiously at first Joly and then Bossuet, and though neither could understand exactly what the high priest was saying, it seemed like she was intended for them, and Joly sucked in a breath and muttered under his breath, “God, you’re going to owe me  _so_  much for agreeing to this.”


	55. E/R - Karaoke

"Grantaire!" Enjolras called, standing up and knocking his chair over in the process as he beamed and waved, beckoning Grantaire over to their table in the corner of the bar, almost tripping over his own feet as he added, "We’re doing karaoke and I’m next!"

"That’s nice," Grantaire told him diplomatically, sliding into a chair next to Combeferre as Enjolras stumbled his way up on to the makeshift stage, and as Enjolras took the microphone, already humming into it despite the lack of music, he leaned over and asked Combeferre, "Who do I have to thank for getting Enjolras completely plastered?"

Combeferre laughed and nodded towards Courfeyrac as Enjolras started singing, and Grantaire laughed as well, recognizing the song, but his laugh died in his throat as Enjolras leapt off the stage coming over to him as he sang, and he grabbed Grantaire’s hand, lacing their fingers together as he crooned, “And when I touch you I feel happy inside - it’s such a feeling that my love I can’t hide” (and later that night when Enjolras was busy puking his guts up, Grantaire held his curls back from his face, stroking his hair gently and singing softly, “Yeah you, got that something, I think you’ll understand; when I say that something, I want to hold your hand”).


	56. E/R - Doctor Who AU

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was prompted with a Doctor Who AU where Grantaire is a timelord, and since there is far too much to the Doctor Who verse for me to want to fuck with it, I give you literally the least amount possible to answer this prompt, and then the rest is up to you to imagine.
> 
> Set at a point just after Grantaire would have told Enjolras the truth of who - and what - he is.

Enjolras stared at Grantaire, hurt, shock, and something close to betrayal written across his face, coupled by his wrinkled brow as he still tried to process everything that Grantaire had just told him, just explained to him, and he said, finally, in a growling voice, “Are you telling me that all the time we’ve spent here, together, we could have been out doing good in this world, saving people, changing the entire course of…well, everything, because if that’s what you’re saying, Grantaire, I just…why would you hide that from me, why wouldn’t you give me the choice to stay or to go?”

"Because you would go and you would fight and you would burn so brightly," Grantaire whispered, running his thumb across Enjolras’s cheek, "and you would fight with every breath in your lungs, every beat of your heart, until there was no more left of you, because you are fragile and so human and I love you for it with both of my hearts, but don’t you see that I couldn’t let you do that, couldn’t let you spend your entire, finite life fighting everyone else’s battles; because I would give every single one of my regenerations to spend an eternity at your side, or else if I could I would go back in time and make sure that you never saw me that day because I will not be able to watch as this breaks you, as this tears you inside out the way I know it will, all the people to be helped, all the good to do, and all that you and I will never be able to accomplish.”

He turned away slightly, the weight of a thousand years and the entire cosmos on his shoulders as he continued softly, “But I can’t, because…us meeting, that date, you taking my hand and and walking with me away from the TARDIS…it’s a fixed point in time and I have been over and over any scenario to try and stop you, to make you turn around and walk away but I can’t, I can’t—” and here his voice broke and he turned away, not wanting Enjolras to see the tears that streamed down his face.

After a long moment, Grantaire felt Enjolras’s hand touch his shoulder gently, slide down his chest to rest on top of one of his hearts, and Enjolras said softly, “I wouldn’t trade it for the world, Grantaire, because what you and I have shared here has meant more to me than anything, and I love you, I really truly love you, but Taire—” Enjolras’s voice changed, deepened, no longer just the voice of Grantaire’s lover but the voice of the revolution, the voice Grantaire had fallen in love with what must seem like so long ago to Enjolras but was a mere blip to Grantaire “—we can help people, we can save entire worlds, and that’s something that’s bigger than you or I; it’s an obligation, and we have to do something, because we have the power to be able to do something, so please, Taire, stand up with me, take this chance with me, because the universe…it needs you, so much more than I do, so much more than you need me.”

"You’re wrong," Grantaire whispered, leaning in to kiss Enjolras, tears still shining on his cheeks, "because I need you more than I have ever needed anything, but I also love you, and I know you won’t be happy unless you’re out trying to make a difference, so for you—" he grabbed Enjolras’s hand, laced their fingers together, and raised it to his mouth to brush a kiss over Enjolras’s knuckles, "for you, I will travel to the farthest corners of the universe, I will fight every battle I can, just so long as you are beside me."


	57. Joly & Grantaire - Zombie Apocalypse

"Go!" Grantaire shouted at Joly over the sound of gunfire as he shot down a mass of zombies (even though more approached, were approaching, still, climbing slowly over the ridge in numbers that Joly didn’t even want to think about, couldn’t even try to process as his fingers numbly loaded another cartridge into his rifle).

"I can’t just leave you here!" Joly insisted, firing with practiced precision at the place in the horde where a fallen body would trip up the highest number of incoming zombies.

Grantaire just shook his head, sighting down the barrel of his own rifle, and said roughly, “You’re the only medic we’ve got; the others need you, but they don’t—”, cutting off his own words at the last moment, though Joly of course knew where they were going ( _They don’t need me_  was written in every line of Grantaire’s body as he hunkered down, ready to do what it would take), and Grantaire smiled crookedly at him, a smile that said he knew that Joly knew, but his voice was still confident and easy as he told Joly, “I’ll cover your six and meet up with everyone at the rendezvous point, ok?” (and Joly nodded, and clasped Grantaire’s shoulder for a brief moment before hefting his rifle in one hand and medic’s bag in the other, blinking back tears at the lie both knew Grantaire had just told, at the man who professed not believing in anything, which may have been the biggest lie of all).


	58. Courfeyrac/Marius - Bachelor AU

Courfeyrac took a deep breath and picked up the envelope from the table and turned it over in his hands a few times before opening it and reading it out loud to the equally impeccably dressed and incredibly nervous man sitting across the table from him, “Dear Courfeyrac and Marius, Should you choose to forgo your individual rooms, please use this key to stay in the fantasy suite overlooking the river Seine.”

If possible, Marius looked even more nervous than before, and his Adam’s apple bobbed up and down a few times before he asked, his voice a hoarse whisper, “Can I…can I have a few minutes to think it over?” and Courfeyrac nodded, though his heart sank slightly, and he kissed Marius’s cheek before standing and heading to the fantasy suite.

Just when Courfeyrac was thinking that he was going to have to spend the evening drinking the champagne that the  _Bachelor_  producers had provided all by himself, a tentative knock sounded on the door, and Courfeyrac opened the door to find Marius smiling at him, and Marius said seriously, “I have come to sleep with you”, and Courfeyrac grinned and pulled him into the room, leaving the door open only long enough to slip the ‘Do Not Disturb’ placard onto the door before closing it in the cameraman’s face. 


	59. Courfeyrac - Post College

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why not end the week with a bit of angst that hits way too close to home for me? ;)

Courfeyrac had always been the party planner, the one who planned their get-togethers and their nights out and, hell, their nights in, even, but since everyone had graduated, it was harder to plan and coordinate, as his suggestions, ranging from going out to the new dance club that just opened to going out for dinner to - quietly, almost half-heartedly - maybe all going to see  _Guardians of the Galaxy_ , since he had wanted to see it for weeks now but didn't want to go by himself, were repeatedly and vocally shot down by the group.

"We have jobs," Combeferre reminded him quietly, while Enjolras, who had only been half-listening and, as it was, was never one to mince words, said loudly, "We have  _lives_ , Courfeyrac.”

Because of course they did, Courfeyrac thought bitterly to himself as he sat alone in the back room of the Musain long after everyone else had rushed off to those lives that they had; of course they had lives, and jobs, and relationships, and all those things that he somehow hadn’t seemed to grasp yet, despite his absolute best efforts to do so, because they were adults and they lived in the real world, and Courfeyrac…Courfeyrac would have given anything in the world to go back to the way things were when they all were still at university together (but he couldn’t, and so he finished his drink and he went back to his parents’ place alone, and started to wonder how many plans he would have to make for just himself for the time being, and he didn’t think he had ever felt quite so alone).


	60. E/R - Meeting Daughter's significant other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based slightly on my own father, and technically takes place in the same 'verse as [this drabble](http://archiveofourown.org/works/841398/chapters/1731725), mostly because of their daughter's name.

Enjolras was whistling off-key and the boy, the pale, slightly pimply fifteen-year-old boy sitting across Grantaire shot him a terrified look before glancing back at Grantaire, who smiled at him with a smile that seemed to show far too many teeth and did not meet his eyes as he said pleasantly, “So as I was saying, we fully expect that you will not do anything this evening, or at any future point in time, to hurt our little girl, because if you do…”

He trailed off and Enjolras’s whistling grew louder, and the boy swallowed and nodded quickly, his eyes wide and fearful, though he relaxed for half a second when he heard Violet shout down from upstairs, “I’ll only be a few minutes longer!”

His relaxation was short-lived, turning quickly to panic as Enjolras paused in his whistling, though it was only for a moment, to readjust the handgun in his lap as he cleaned it, and when his whistling picked back up, the boy glanced back at Grantaire, whose grin widened (“Do you think he knows it was a prop gun?” Grantaire asked quietly, later that evening, with his head on Enjolras’s chest; Enjolras’s quiet chuckle was the only answer he needed).


	61. E/R - Cooking Show AU

"Are you watching his show again?" Courfeyrac demanded as soon as Enjolras picked up his phone, and when Enjolras refused to dignify that with a response, he let out a positively evil cackle and said gleefully, "You totally are, aren’t you, and the gods smile upon me that I am witnessing this wonderful event."

It had started as nothing more than Enjolras wanting to teach himself how to cook, and so had turned to the Food Network in order to find the perfect show to teach himself the basics and a few recipes, and it had really been all downhill from the moment he decided that a show entitled, “Of Swallowing an Oyster and a Revolution” was worth his time: the host, a smirking, cynical, oddly attractive dark-haired man who called himself R, became the bane of Enjolras’s existence, smiling at the camera as if he could see Enjolras’s pitiful attempts at cooking while his own food turned out masterful, and besides, the man drank at least a bottle of wine every episode and  _still_ his food turned out better than Enjolras’s; what made it worse was that, though Enjolras despised the man, he was a good teacher, talking the camera and the audience beyond carefully through each step, and Enjolras would growl and glare at the TV as he wondered why his crêpes did not turn out perfectly formed and lightly golden; what made it doubly worse was that his friends had somehow caught on that Enjolras never missed a single episode, and thus teased him for it; what made it worse to the nth degree was discovering that the Food Network’s website featured a comment section that enabled Enjolras to talk to R directly, which had led to several heated exchanges over the internet.

What made it the worst of all, though, was R turning to the camera at the beginning of that day’s episode and grinning sardonically as he uncorked a bottle of wine while announcing, “Today’s recipe goes out to user ‘revolution1832’, who challenged me to go an entire episode without drinking, and so instead, I’ll be teaching you all recipes made with wine, starting with a delightful coq au vin” (and Enjolras buried his head in his arms and groaned while Courfeyrac cackled over the phone).


End file.
